


At the End of the Rainbow

by saunatonttu



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Falling In Love, M/M, Post-Sacred Stones, takes place in FEH setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 62,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu
Summary: When life gives you an unexpected second chance, what do you do with it?[Lyon, Innes, and the undoing of personal demons.]





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in Askr, and the setting might not be comprehensible without some knowledge of FEH and its story, though I've altered the story aspects of FEH to fit with this. Includes Heavy spoilers for Sacred Stones, naturally.
> 
> "60k words for a crackship? Why?" I wish I knew myself.
> 
> Happy belated birthday, Emil. This is for enabling me, you Satan.

Since his arrival at the Askran castle, Prince Lyon had done his best to stay out of everyone’s sight. It was a little worrisome, Innes thought, to not know what someone like him was up to given what had happened back home. Eirika was around, sure, and she was inevitably going to keep an eye on the avoidant prince of Grado, but the thought of Eirika having to do something so unpleasant made Innes purse his lips.

Tana would say that he was being unreasonable – that Eirika certainly didn’t need _his_ help – but Tana wasn’t there, thank goodness. Father would not rest well if even Tana was gone.

Innes had his own schedule that he had carefully crafted himself, but it included nothing that would stop him from ensuring that there was no second coming of the Demon King for the time being. Ephraim would surely do so – and Innes was no worse than that man. That alone was reason enough.

Figuring out Prince Lyon’s daily schedule, however, was trickier than Innes had initially anticipated. Between his own daily chores, training, studies and strategy meetings, he found out Prince Lyon wasn’t as predictable as he had thought. Though Innes couldn’t say he knew the other prince well enough to warrant this irritation he felt at not figuring out Lyon’s most likely ways of spending time.

Perhaps it was Innes’s own innate desire to be in the know of these things – a feeling as earnest as Innes himself, but which could cause more harm than good sometimes.

It had been a week since Prince Lyon’s arrival that Innes managed to find him in the inner castle gardens. It was wintertime, but these gardens were as vividly green as if it was a bright summer’s day. Richly coloured flowers adorned the garden: shades of white, yellow, and blue stuck out between shades of green, vines crawling up pillars and out-of-season crickets making noise.

In the midst of this mischief of colours, Prince Lyon stood with his back to Innes, murmuring soft words that Innes couldn’t hear and which he didn’t even try catching as he studied Lyon’s slender back hidden underneath his usual purple cloak. His violet hair was a tangled mess and his slumped posture radiated heavy exhaustion that tugged Innes’s brows down.

Not that Innes cared. The Grado prince wasn’t the only one with troubles – if anything, Lyon was already slacking off in his duties to the summoner.

However… something hovered in the back of Innes’ mind as he watched Lyon. Something Ephraim had once said about the prince, his precious friend. It had been late at night then, Ephraim far more tired than usual and his lips entirely too ready to spout nonsense.

Ephraim had spoken of Lyon in a tone that wrung Innes’s stomach whenever he remembered it. Something about Ephraim’s weary pain had moved Innes, as loathsome as admitting it was.

Now, he had a different manifestation of pain in front of him, one that Innes didn’t know how to deal with either. And when he didn’t know how to handle something, only the straightforward option remained.

“There there…” Lyon’s voice was soft, and Innes finally made out the words Lyon was saying. “Don’t eat yourselves silly, now…”

The intonation in the words shook, a fragile tune of an emotion Innes wasn’t intimate with. It had Innes narrow his eyes at the unpleasantness of it. Either that, or the bright sunlight made him squint.

Transfixed without his notice, Innes didn’t have time to avert his gaze when Lyon’s head turned, and wary eyes met his blatant staring.

Innes, gods forbid, felt heat rise to his cheeks. He hadn’t meant himself to be caught gawking like a moron.

“Prince Innes?” Lyon enunciated his name carefully, squinting as though he had trouble remembering the name. Which was, frankly speaking, insulting, and Innes wrinkled his nose at that. Even the sweet scent of flowers could not alleviate the annoyance rising in him. Lyon was at a distance where his expression was hard to read, but Innes saw Prince Lyon’s body language stiffening under his stare. Birds scattered as he shifted his weight between his feet, and only now Innes realised what Lyon had been doing just now. “How long have you been…”

“Long enough,” Innes said when Lyon let the question fade instead of finishing it. Then, because Lyon didn’t answer, Innes continued as he stepped forward, “Feeding the birds seems like a risky hobby for your health.”

Lyon managed a smile at that, though upon closer inspection Innes saw the strain it put on Lyon’s face. “Practical as always, aren’t you… if I remember right.”

“Sensible, I would say,” Innes deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you trying to get sick?”

The tension on Lyon’s face now moved to the rest of his body as the much shorter prince shifted weight between his feet, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his robe. It reminded Innes a little of Tana whenever Innes had scolded her as children. Innes quickly removed that thought – Tana wasn’t there and getting distracted thinking of her and Frelia would not help with the task right in front of him.

“I’m not,” Lyon finally said with his gaze turned down, obviously unable to look at him. Something fell from his clenched hands – seeds? Something to feed the birds with, in any case. When Lyon continued, his voice was as strained and hesitant as his posture. “It’s just… a romantic idea, right? Befriending birds and feeding them. And they aren’t wild, in the first place…”

Like this wasn’t a natural garden. Innes nodded at that, still unsure where to take this conversation now. Small talk wasn’t an area he excelled at as he saw little need for it most times outside his court, especially not with a withdrawn man like this one. Luckily, Lyon spared him from having to attempt anything foolish.

“For something artificial, the court mages succeeded well with this garden, don’t you think?” Lyon said, the nervous undertone of his voice as obvious as his aversion of eye contact.  Still, Lyon started smiling for real even despite his nerves. This time, it only looked tired instead of forced. “Something living and bright, created and sustained by magic… I find it wonderful.”

“I suppose,” Innes said, taking a second look at the garden surrounding them. The arrangements appeared chaotic to him, who was used to symmetry and geometrical designs. “It’s nothing like Frelia’s outdoor gardens, but it’s passable.”

Lyon’s sudden laughter startled Innes, but he didn’t turn to look at the other’s face. Instead, he frowned at the yellow rose his eyes had landed on, fixating on in stubbornly to keep his attention away from Lyon. The bright glowing quality of the colour was certainly something to marvel at, and Innes wondered how something like that could not be a wonder from nature instead of the manmade miracle it was.

“Somehow, I thought you might say that.”

Innes huffed, a little irritated as he turned his attention back to Lyon.  Not quite as much as he would be with Ephraim, but close enough.

“My country is a beautiful one.” His words came out defensively, which made Innes wish to kick himself. How absurd.

“I’m sure it is,” Lyon said, voice soft and pacifying. Innes’ irritation settled at the sound of it, and he lifted his gaze to study Lyon’s face that now appeared more relaxed.

“I don’t remember ever visiting Frelia, but I have heard much about it from… from…” Lyon’s smile faded as he stuttered, the name almost refusing to come past his lip. “From Ephraim…”

So much for Lyon relaxing, then – and so much for Innes’ peace of mind, too. The mention of _him_ never failed to put him on the edge.

Innes narrowed his eyes. “He better have had nothing but praise for Frelia.”

“Ah, I think I remember something like that coming from his mouth…” Lyon’s pale cheeks reddened as his gaze skittered around the greenery surrounding them. The wind was chilly, showcasing the actual season Askr was embraced in, and Lyon shuddered. “But it was… a long time ago.”

“That’s good enough,” Innes relented, lips curling into a somewhat smug smile. The words came to his mouth before he could reconsider them. “I doubt that man told you anything of value, however, so if you’d like to refresh your memory regarding Frelia, I’m not opposed to helping you.”

Lyon didn’t answer for a while. He kept on fidgeting, obviously considering Innes’s suggestion, before he gave a barely perceptible nod, eyes cast down. Then, as if saying the words was a challenging task, Lyon muttered, “That… would be nice, Prince Innes.”

“It’s settled, then,” Innes decided, satisfied even if this wasn’t what he had come to check Lyon about.

“Yes...” Lyon looked up then, his violet eyes meeting Innes’s. The light in them remained dim, but a little less so than before. “You don’t have to look for me as hard as you have recently.”

Before Innes could say anything to that – to deny it, of course! He hadn’t been searching for Lyon _at all_ – the elusive prince of Grado had already taken off deeper into the garden, chased by sunlight, leaving Innes behind to stare at nothing at all in a state of deep confusion.

That certainly hadn’t gone the way he had planned, had it?

More importantly… _how_ had he planned it to go in the first place?

 

*

 

He started seeing Lyon around more often after that: mostly around the summoner and sometimes circling nervously near Eirika’s shared room. The latter Innes would interfere with, as it was his duty in Ephraim’s absence to make sure nothing befell on Eirika. (And he would do it _better_ , no matter how juvenile competing over Eirika’s safety was.)

“Oh, I’m not going to bother her,” Lyon would say, eyes cast down. “I don’t think I… have to courage to face her, after all.”

Ephraim had always called Lyon timid, and Innes could clearly see why in these interactions. Back then, though, seeing what little he had seen of Lyon, _timid_ hadn’t been the word to come to mind.

But now… Innes saw it in the way Lyon held himself. He was already small, and the way his shoulders sagged and how his hands twiddled with one another made him seem frailer. As if he were a small child trying to hide from view.  

“She knows you’re here,” Innes would point out. He never mentioned how Eirika felt equally hesitant when it came to meeting Lyon again, some old fear holding her captive much like Lyon’s obvious nervousness did.

Lyon wouldn’t say anything to that, but his hands always curled into themselves until his knuckles started turning white. Something dark lingered in Lyon’s expression for a fleeting moment during these times, something that Innes would frown at, but Lyon always turned and walked away before Innes could say anything, his steps seemingly leading him towards one of the libraries.

What was most disturbing was how Innes stayed to stare at his retreating back, his own legs not moving until Lyon was already out of sight.

 

*

 

Sometimes Eirika invited him to have tea with her. The Askran tea culture, from his understanding, wasn’t much to write home about, but he supposed it was more about the social interaction than the actual quality of tea. He also figured these tea times with Eirika had something to do with the fact that they were both without their siblings in a foreign land, her possibly feeling drawn to him for that reason. A sister without her brother, and a brother without his sister. No wonder they would steer towards one another.

This time she had surprisingly little to say, her expression vacant as her mind wandered while servants poured them tea. A contemplative Eirika wasn’t a new sight: Innes had seen that type of expression many times through the weeks he had been in Askr at her side. What was new was her apprehension when it came to discussing whatever it was that held her mind captive. 

Innes supposed he was a poor choice for heart-to-heart talks. Tana had been saying so consistently for the last five years, and she wasn’t the only one. Still, Eirika had chosen him for this occasion.

“Innes,” she eventually started after taking her first two sips of tea. Her voice held a strange intonation, and she looked up at him just as strangely. “You’ve been watching over Lyon, right?”

“Watching over is an overstatement.” ‘Bumping occasionally into’ would be more accurate. Innes took a sip and tried not to make a face at the entirely too sweet tea. “Our few encounters have mostly been by chance.”

They hadn’t yet made plans for Innes to educate him on Frelia and its loveliness – why did that thought remind him of L’Arachel suddenly – as summoner had kept Innes busy and Lyon in training. Innes didn’t know details on that, but he suspected summoner intended to deploy Lyon to the front lines eventually. Kiran, the said summoner, didn’t shy from using their more questionable allies for the sake of Askr and Zenith, it seemed. Innes had warned them several times, but as usual, he wasn’t listened to when his advice could be crucial.

Which was fine, he supposed, but he had to wonder how many of their brain cells Kiran was actually using.

“Still, a few times outnumber _none at all_ ,” Eirika pointed out, a small smile finally appearing on her lips. Innes pursed his own at how forced it looked on her. “I have seen him around, but I never get the chance to catch him for a heart-to-heart.”

Innes thought back on the last time he had caught Lyon lingering around the door to Eirika’s chamber – not knowing that Eirika had been deployed by the summoner that day – and sighed. These two…

“I don’t know Prince Lyon as intimately as you and that brother of yours do, but he seems to… be closer to how you and Ephraim knew him in the past,” Innes said after considering his words, staring into his cup as he recalled the impressions he had got from his and Lyon’s few interactions.

When he lifted his eyes, Eirika’s expression was that of relief – she trusted his opinion, apparently. Why, Innes couldn’t fathom – he truly didn’t know Lyon the way she and Ephraim had. “…Right... but there is something that… if he remembers what happened, then he must be having a hard time with it, I imagine. That’s the Lyon I know. Even if he couldn’t help it, back then…”

“I wouldn’t know,” Innes said as he sipped at his tea, sure that the sweet taste of it was poisoning him. Like he would let that stop him from finishing it, though. The overly sweet flavour might drown out the memory of Lyon stuttering out Ephraim’s name when they had first talked. “He seemed withdrawn and awkward when it comes to Ephraim, but anything other than that I know not of.”

He didn’t mention Lyon hanging around her room with obvious need to see and talk to Eirika.

“I suppose you would know all about awkward,” Eirika mused, more to herself than to Innes.

Now, this was an insult. “Excuse me?”

“Based on what Tana told me before,” Eirika said, though she had the decency to look sorry for her words, “you’re pretty awkward yourself.”

Innes’s nose wrinkled at the mention of his sister. Her absence in Askr was a relief, but Innes had heard the summoner’s pitiable whining at the stone tablet and knew Kiran wished she would come soon. For whatever reason. “Tana is horribly biased against me, I assure you.”

Eirika slipped a stray curl of hair behind her ear, her smile widening as her eyes sparkled with some juvenile humour Innes was sure she had got from Tana. “I’m sure.”

“Eirika, I am quite serious.”

“Yes, I know.” Eirika rolled the spoon in her cup and stared down at the liquid to hide her amusement. “It’s not quite the same type of awkwardness as Lyon’s, but…”

Innes’ face twisted at Eirika’s insistency on calling him _awkward_. Perhaps small talk wasn’t his strongest suit, as he often didn’t see the need for it, but that hardly counted as awkward.  “You’re saying this to make me look after him, aren’t you? Riling me up won’t do you any good, Eirika.”

“I apologize if I’ve offended you,” Eirika said with a disarming smile that had Innes’ tense shoulders sag and relax. She sighed softly, a troubled look crossing her face as she continued twirling her spoon. “It’s just that Kiran said they might be putting you two in a team soon…”

One of Innes’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Oh? That’s the first time I’ve heard about that.”

“They said _might_ ,” Eirika corrected. “I think… it’d be nice if that happened. Kiran is still kind of wary about putting me near him for some reason, so…”

“Hm. An understandable reason, I’m sure.”” Innes wondered just what kind of knowledge Kiran had that made them be that conscious of Eirika’s or Lyon’s feelings on the matter of teaming up. The frown on his face deepened; this bordered on unnecessary meddling. “I will talk to the summoner if you wish—”

“No,” Eirika rushed to say, setting her porcelain cup down hard enough to create a loud clinking sound. She winced at it as Innes levelled her with a questioning stare and proceeded to look down again. “I’m not ready to see him in battle, in case he still is... you know. I know it sounds naïve…”

“Hardly,” Innes said, unwillingly recalling the night Ephraim opened up to him back in their own world. Something about the look Ephraim had given him had been haunting him ever since, though Innes couldn’t explain why. “If it happens, I’ll keep him out of trouble for you.”

“Thank you.” The grateful look blooming on her face had Innes look away from such brightness. “That’s… all I can ask for, truly.”

Innes nodded, absent-minded, the frown still in place on his face. As he had already made plans for further interactions with Lyon, fulfilling Eirika’s request while at it should be doable.

To think that Ephraim’s friend would take so much time from Innes’ own personal tasks…

 

*

 

The next time they met a few days after Innes’s tea moment with Eirika, Lyon had been waiting for him. It had been about a month since he arrived in Askr, yet his face looked even paler than the first time Innes saw him.

“This isn’t Eirika’s chamber,” Innes said when he halted, raising an eyebrow at Lyon. “That’s mine.”

A shared chamber, but his nevertheless.

Lyon, who had been standing around deep in his thoughts, visibly jumped at Innes’s voice, his head whipping towards him. The pallid colour of his face startled Innes; he didn’t remember Lyon looking _that_ pale before.

Lyon started speaking in a strained voice, its intonation and syllables shaky. “I wasn’t looking for Eirika. I was… waiting for you, actually.”

“Ah, of course.” Innes stayed silent for an awkwardly long moment, during which Lyon shifted on his feet like he’d rather be somewhere else. “What for?”

“You did promise to… uh, how did you put it… _educate_ me on Frelia, right?” The dim light that entered through the small hallway windows gave Lyon’s tangled hair a soft violet glow and cast a shadow over his face that hid the details of his expression from Innes’s eyes. “I heard you finished training for today, so I thought now would be as good a time as any.”

Innes nodded at that. The promise, right. They had been putting that off for a couple weeks now. “You heard correctly. And I do have some time to bra—to share things about my Frelia with you.”

Lyon’s voice brightened at that, even if its tone remained somewhat glum and his gaze lowered. “In that case…”

“Yes, yes,” Innes said, waving his hand at that. Some people passed by them in the hallway, and Innes leaned in to tug Lyon out of their way. Lyon flinched, but Innes made no comment on it, only let his hand fall back down when people had passed. “Let me change into something more presentable first, and then I can teach you of the many Frelian wonders.”

Lyon stared up at him, his expression in full view, and the dark bags under his eyes caught Innes by surprise. As did the flash of something unreadable in the violet irises.

“Uh. I shall go change now, yes,” Innes murmured as he released his hold from Lyon’s wrist, ignoring the peculiar heat that had risen to his face. “Wait a moment.”

He had been intending to take a bath but that would have to wait till later, he supposed as he slipped into the three-person bedchamber, undoing the clasps and clips before slipping out of the sweaty pieces of clothing one by one. Something about Lyon just now demanded that this should be done _immediately_ and not later – perhaps it was the pitiable slump of his shoulders, or the terribly maintained hair… Innes couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

The empty chamber filled momentarily with the noises of Innes shuffling around and clothes rustling as he retrieved the Askran-styled clothes he had been given before as a sign of hospitality. At first, they had been ridiculously baggy and short on him – Innes rather disliked the shirt that had not covered his midriff properly – until a proper tailor looked at him and fixed him with something better. It had been one of the better days of his stay so far.

When Innes got out, well-dressed and well-scented as he was not an _animal_ , Lyon had fallen back into his thoughts, fingers playing with the long sleeves of his red-shaded tunic. Even the door opening didn’t rouse him from his daydreams, and Innes had to clear his throat two times before Lyon looked up at him with a sheepish expression spreading over his face.

“You ought to pay more attention,” Innes said, as straightforward and matter-of-fact as ever. What need was there to be dishonest, after all? Lyon certainly didn’t seem offended by it. “I won’t have you spacing out when I’m fixing the severe lack of Frelia in your education.”

“Ah, you don’t need to worry about that,” Lyon said, finished with the timid fidgeting with his fingers, and looked down again. The slight blush on his pale cheeks stood out to Innes, and he frowned at it as Lyon continued, “I’m an attentive student if nothing else.”

“I’ll take your word for that,” Innes said. “To the library, then?”

Lyon’s face lit up at the suggestion, and Innes felt his own lips rise into a smile despite himself.

 

*

 

The main library was a vast room with what appeared to be an uncountable number of shelves and ladders as well as doors leading both outside and to studies and strategy rooms. Innes had been there numerous times since his arrival, but he hadn’t had the chance to see every bit of it yet. The military history of Askr had kept him busy so far, as well as general history of Zenith.

By his side, Lyon appeared absolutely spellbound by the sheer size of the library. On the way, he had mentioned that he had mainly been using the smaller ones in the east and west wings of the castle so far, so this was his first time entering the comprehensive archive of Askr’s legends, histories, and everything in between.

Lyon’s gloomy behaviour from before had changed drastically mere moments after they stepped in the library, and for this relief flooded Innes’s veins. Up close, Lyon’s smile was a soft, tender thing: much more muted than the ones Innes often saw plastered on Tana’s face when she wasn’t upset at him, but just as endearing.

(Endearing or infuriating – it all depended on the context.)

“I could spend entire days here,” Lyon murmured, his voice full of awe and admiration, as he went to look at the nearest shelf, running his fingers over books and their spines. Innes glanced over the titles: something related to mythological beginnings of Askr, it appeared. “I should have come sooner.”

“Yes, perhaps,” Innes said, unintentionally smiling at Lyon’s enthusiasm. “Shall we get down to _our_ business first, though?”

Lyon pulled his hands back to himself, a sheepish laughter rushing out of him. He quickly quieted down, pressing a hand over his mouth to silence himself before the other occupants – few as they were currently – could make a complaint. “Yes, of course. I got a bit carried away, didn’t I?”

“Quite,” Innes said dryly, “though I can’t fault your appreciation for books.” It was refreshingly different from the people Innes shared his chamber with – they could use a little more appreciation for the wisdom in research and factual knowledge. “Let us find ourselves a table.”

They found one far enough from other visitors, some of whom were “heroes” like them, and settled down as Lyon lamented that he hadn’t thought to bring his notebook with him.

“Notebook?”

“You know, for notes.”

“I _know_ what a notebook is for,” Innes huffed irritably, and Lyon winced. “I was wondering what you needed it for. For our current stations in life, knowledge of Frelia is hardly going to benefit you, as reluctant as I’m to say so.”

Lyon’s lips curled into something like a pout as his hand swept some of his violet hair and tucked it behind his ear. Innes watched the delicate movement with narrowed eyes until Lyon’s voice distracted him. “Unnecessary or not, I still like taking notes of things I find interesting.”

Lyon’s eyes peered into Innes’s, the gaze unrelenting even if Lyon himself wasn’t. “I want to hear about the country I was never able to visit. And others that I won’t be able to visit. So, Prince Innes…”

Innes stared back at those eyes, at the curiosity and muted determination that shone in them. Swallowing, not understanding why that unexpectedly strong gaze was making his skin crawl, Innes realised that Ephraim had been right about Lyon. He was more stubborn than what his meek appearance suggested.

“…Of course, I have no reason to deny you,” Innes said slowly, leaning against the back of the chair and crossing his arms as he closed his eyes, so he would not have to see Lyon’s face. Something in Lyon’s words sprung up unease within him, though Innes couldn’t determine what it was that affected him so. “There will be no tea breaks for this, I must warn you.”

“I have sat through days of magical theory,” Lyon said wryly. Hints of exhaustion continued to linger on him, but at least Lyon’s expressions were livelier now along with his voice. “I think I can take it, Prince Innes.”

“If you insist,” Innes said just as wryly. “I’ll have no complaints once we start.”

And complain Lyon did not. He listened to Innes talking about the ways of his home, of the gardens tended to at their castle, of the vast fields of wheat in the countryside. Lyon listened, eyes wide and attentive, his body leaning towards Innes across the table, and Innes found the unbiased attention to his words rather nice.

Perhaps Innes was getting too ahead himself – he shouldn’t forget that Prince Lyon had been the cause behind everything he and many others had gone through back in Magvel – but in the heat of the moment he couldn’t help himself. Of individuals on equal standing with him, only few listened to him so earnestly.

Not to mention, Lyon asked for more and, although in a soft, reminiscent voice, shared things of his nation that Innes hadn’t learnt of before. The campaign had never taken him to Grado, after all. Lyon’s voice, when their talk touched their peoples, turned reverent, a touch of deep-rooted melancholia in his eyes that Innes wanted to look away from but couldn’t.

Their conversation had to be soft and hushed due to their location, but it didn’t make it any less vibrant and engaging. It lasted longer than Innes had dared to anticipate: afternoon had turned into evening when they finally stopped. Innes only realised this when the evening sun’s light caressed Lyon’s face and hair differently from the afternoon glow – a soft shade of orange brushed over Lyon’s cheek and hair, falling down Lyon’s neck and his tunic.

Lyon’s features weren’t bad to look at, Innes found – and then scolded himself for noticing such a useless thing.

“…Hm, it appears I got a bit carried away,” Innes murmured, swallowing down the raspy feeling in his throat. He hadn’t expected to drown in the conversation as much as he had, and now the hollow feeling in his stomach demanded attention. “Would you like to join me for a meal before we go our separate ways?”

Lyon blinked at the question, obvious surprise written over his face. “Ah…”

Before he could either take Innes’ offer or reject it, his stomach made a loud growling noise, which in turn made Innes’ lips slip into a knowing smirk. “I’ll take that for a yes, then.”

“I…” Lyon hesitated, pursing his lips and chewing on them before sighing and nodding. “I have already held you up enough, but if you’re sure you don’t mind my company…”

“You’re already much more tolerable than Ephraim is,” Innes said as he got up quietly to roll his stiff shoulders. “And I simply cannot allow you to escape when there’s much to talk about still.”

Lyon laughed at that, the sound short but pleasant to Innes’s ears. Most importantly, it was genuine. “Well, since you insist.”

“I do, indeed.” Innes held up his hand for Lyon, who stared at it in confusion before realisation dawned on his face. He took the offered help to get up, his fingers brushing against Innes’ in doing so.

Lyon’s hand, Innes noticed, was much softer than he could have imagined. He had always pictured mage’s hands – dark mage’s in particular – to be a little burnt or otherwise affected by the element of magic they possessed and used, but Lyon’s fingers and palm were soft against Innes’ as he helped Lyon up.

Curious, Innes thought.

 

*

 

It took about twenty minutes of walking down and around the castle staircases they arrived at their destination.

The mess hall was half-full when Innes and Lyon entered, which left plenty of empty tables and corners for them. Some other heroes raised their hands in greeting, some of whom Innes had worked with in passing and some for longer assignments, and Innes nodded in return before navigating himself and Lyon towards the food.

He saw Lyon throwing glances around the hall, taking in his surroundings.

“You haven’t eaten here before, have you?” Innes couldn’t keep the judgment out of his voice completely, and he only realized it when Lyon’s face fell. Innes turned away from that crestfallen look to ration himself a propel meal, his own expression knitting into a frown.

Lyon answered quietly as he came with him, opting for much less of the main dish and much more dessert than Innes. “I tend to eat in my room most of the time.”

“I see,” Innes said, stealing a sideways glance at him. Lyon’s head hung low as he finished picking up creamy and chocolate desserts. They usually weren’t so readily available for heroes, but the Order did like to coddle the summoner. “I suppose it’s for the best. Some do get unnecessarily rowdy when they’re supposed to be digesting their food.”

He wasn’t speaking of himself, of course. The only one he’d get into fisticuffs over dinner wasn’t anywhere near Zenith and probably wouldn’t be for quite a while, regardless of Kiran’s will and wails.

They ended up at one of the corner tables, some distance away from most others and their ceaseless chatter. Innes had no problems with socializing – really, no matter what his nosy little sister said – but he preferred the intimacy of one-on-one and being able to hear what the other was saying.

“You’re not eating any more than that?” Innes questioned Lyon, eyeing at the stew on Lyon’s plate. “If you were ill, you could have told me so before.”

“It’s the usual amount for me,” Lyon said, sighing. “Eating too much does make me ill. And I already…”

Lyon’s voice trailed off, eyes looking anywhere else but Innes.

“Oh.” Innes cleared his throat awkwardly. That… hadn’t been the intended reaction. “I apologize for my…”

Lyon smiled, shaking his head. When he spoke, he was polite and distant – the usual royal demeanour. It seemed to Innes that Lyon had sunk back to being gloomy and withdrawn as the shadows under his eyes appeared somehow darker now. Perhaps that was the dim lighting. “It’s alright, Prince Innes… you were only worrying about me.”

“I wasn’t,” Innes insisted.

Lyon’s smile curled at his denial, and the shadows on his face disappeared momentarily as those violet eyes crinkled. “If you say so.”

What was so amusing, Innes would never know. What he did know that the look Lyon gave him that moment made his face burn with the feeling of having been caught red-handed. Returning to his stew, mind numb to the audible chatter from across the hall, Innes did his best to keep his eyes from wandering to Lyon again.

It was a frustratingly difficult thing to achieve.

 

*

 

He finally got to take his bath after he and Lyon separated near Innes’ chambers and after maids (one of whom was worryingly unsteady on her feet) heated up water for him. It was only now, in the bath, that Innes realised how many things he should have asked from Lyon to ascertain his suspicions and doubts – or to dispel them, Innes mused, thinking of Lyon’s pale face and innocent, if not at times gloomy, eyes.

The hot water did wonders to relax his stiff shoulders and ease the aches in his joints. _Growing pains_ , Innes mused as he stretched and listened to the splash of water before he sank back in, _are a nuisance_.

His thoughts went back to Lyon as he relaxed in the bath, knees pulled up in the tiny tub. Their conversation at the library had been mutually enthralling and had gone on for hours with barely any lulls in between. Unlike L’Arachel, Lyon didn’t try to argue or make it into a contest of which was better. Lyon’s face didn’t hide away his interest; instead, his fascination was on full display. Sometimes subtly, but Innes fancied himself good at reading people.

At the same time, the image of tired Ephraim on the other side of the campfire on _that_ night in Magvel returned to Innes’ mind. How softly Ephraim had spoken of his friend, and how much Innes hadn’t wanted to listen as it would only serve to weaken Ephraim’s resolve – or so Innes had figured. He had been wrong, of course, and probably underestimated his rival when he shouldn’t have.

Innes sighed out loud, the noise echoing off the walls of the small bathroom. Some part of him felt it his responsibility to look after Eirika for Ephraim – and now that same part said that he ought to do the same for Lyon. It was a big part of him: the responsible side that knew his duties and would see them through.

More concerningly, Innes found that he rather liked Lyon’s company. Eirika had called him awkward, but the afternoon with him had given Innes nothing close to that impression.

(But then again, Eirika had also called _him_ awkward.)

Innes sighed again, irritated with himself and how caught up in Lyon he had become with just passing meetings and conversations. The sound of his irritated breath rang heavy in his ears, but it soon drowned under splashes of water as he continued to wash himself.

 

*

 

Eirika and Lyon met soon after that day. Innes only knew of this as he accidentally walked in on them in the mage-crafted garden where green ran rampant all year round. He had once again been returning from the practice grounds after tucking Nidhogg away. He thought to take a detour through the garden, which was how he ended up witnessing Eirika and Lyon in a warm embrace, both saying something Innes couldn’t quite catch.

It was a heart-warming sight, Innes would say, although he could tell both were crying.

Innes was _crap_ at dealing with crying people – as Tana would say, based on her own experiences – so he quickly snuck away from that scene, steps firm and stomach not at all in knots over seeing a friend and a good acquaintance in tears.

(Maybe a little – only a little.)

 

*

 

Lyon became a frequent presence around the practice grounds soon after that. He would look on from a distance at first, but soon Lyon got closer and closer. His staring became blatant as he kept his eyes on Innes when he focused his practice shots on the targets set up a considerable distance away.

Initially Innes thought Lyon was there to observe someone else: he had seen mages practicing their spells on this location before. Kiran had indeed gathered a formidable number of mages as of late, so it seemed like a reasonable explanation for a studious man like Prince Lyon to come out to observe the different magics.

But as days passed, it became obvious that Lyon’s eyes rested on him more than on the mages that sometimes trained beside and with him. It was a flattering thought, if nothing else. Innes was confident in his skills as an archer and as a strategist – having someone bear witness to it brought a pleasant feeling to his stomach and a smile to his face, though some might call him smug for that. 

Eventually, though, Innes had to call him out on the blatant staring.

“Is there something you need?” he asked as he came back to the edges of practice grounds where Lyon had been sitting for a while now. Nidhogg was already tucked over his back, arrows in the quiver thrown over his shoulder, and Innes didn’t have much reason to linger except to talk with Lyon now that he got the chance.

Usually Lyon would have taken his leave by the time Innes started retrieving the arrows from wherever they landed, but today he had stayed.

Winter had given way to early spring, though the temperature remained low. Perhaps this was the reason behind the dust of red highlighting Lyon’s cheeks and why he buried his nose deep into the Askran-made scarf around his neck. Innes had a similar scarf hanging from his arm – most heroes had something similar, perhaps out of Princess Sharena’s misplaced need to make them feel welcomed in the Order. Her brother, in contrast, was much more reasonable and kept his distance and definitely did not shower heroes with gifts.

“No… not really,” Lyon murmured into the fabric, his voice muffled. The scarf hid most of his cheeks, but Innes caught the redness on Lyon’s face regardless.

“You’ve been watching me for a few days now,” Innes pointed out, raising his eyebrows before extending a hand to help Lyon up from the melting pile of snow he had been sitting on. Innes would scold him for the disregard for his health later, but now he wanted to keep to the topic at hand. “It must be something.”

“I...” Lyon took his hand, his fingers cold against Innes’, and let himself be pulled up. “I just… watching you practice your archery is relaxing.”

“That’s the first time anyone’s said that,” Innes said dryly, though the words pleased him. “It is what it always is. There’s not much to be fascinated by unless you have practiced archery yourself… have you?”

Lyon sighed. The amount of defeat in his voice made Innes blink when Lyon muttered, “I have no talent for things outside dark magic.”

A cold breeze made Lyon shudder before he continued speaking, half a smile on his delicate mouth that was barely visible behind the fabric of the blue-and-gold scarf. “I saw you one day when I passed by and thought… your grace with a bow is unparalleled.”

Innes took a moment for both the compliment to sink in – being recognised felt good, though unnecessary flattery didn’t do it for him – and to comprehend Lyon’s comment about his own talents or lack thereof. Arching an eyebrow suspiciously, Innes asked, “Enough to keep you coming back day after day?”

Lyon’s cheeks looked even redder than before, and Innes sighed and draped his unused scarf around Lyon’s neck to accompany the one already there. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’m – no, Innes, you need it more, you just finished with practice–“ Lyon protested vehemently as Innes placed the scarf around his neck. Innes ignored his verbal denials and focused on tying the scarf firmly.

“There,” he muttered once he finished, huffing out something like a laugh at the look on Lyon’s face. “What’s with that expression, Lyon?”

Under two scarves, Lyon’s expression was hard to read, but Innes saw the wrinkle of his nose and the furrow of his brow, reminiscent of Frelian rabbits somehow. They were cute if not terribly shy creatures. Innes couldn’t help but chuckle at the resemblance.

“Innes,” Lyon huffed before his eyes widened and he corrected himself, “…er, Prince Innes—”

“You don’t need to do that,” Innes said. “People here are already disgustingly casual with titles and such, so it doesn’t make a difference.”

They walked back towards the inner castle, Innes adjusting his stride to match Lyon’s, and somehow their conversation moved onto the large collection of books the main library held. There was also the specific one meant for the Order of Heroes, though Innes hadn’t perused its collections as thoroughly yet. From what he heard from commander Anna, its collections dealt with the worlds the heroes hailed from – presumably there would be something about Magvel as well as others.

Lyon had been studying up on Zenith’s history recently. “I was reading up on Askr and Embla’s relations last night before they drove me off,” Lyon said as they made their way upstairs towards one of the libraries. “What I read… it sounded familiar.”

Innes hummed at that. “I have yet to read up on that subject myself.” Which was an oversight, considering the situation. “I’ve been focusing on military history myself.”

“I haven’t made much progress myself,” Lyon said as he began to untie the scarves around his neck now that they were safe from cold breezes. “Summoner has been keeping me busy recently.”

“Oh?” Innes raised an eyebrow at that as he took the scarf Lyon held out to him and folded it neatly over his arm again.

“They think I’m useful in battle,” Lyon said with a sigh as he held onto his own scarf, wringing it with his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with it. “I haven’t got the faintest idea why.”

“Who really knows what they think,” Innes said. “I haven’t been deployed much recently. A poor judgment on their behalf.” He remembered Eirika mentioning the idea of him and Lyon being put together in a team and huffed at the memory. So much for that. It hadn’t been impossibly long since Eirika had brought it up, but long enough to make it seem unlikely. Kiran, from what Innes knew, was a fickle person, never stopping to hold back the impulsive urges. Their long-term plans… appeared non-existent.

If Kiran didn’t put the thought into action, then they wouldn’t do so anytime soon.

Lyon’s barely stifled laugh pulled Innes away from his thoughts and brought a frown to his face as they both halted their steps. “What’s so funny?”

Lyon’s smile, despite how small it was, shone like sunlight through a thin cover of clouds, eyes gentle as they peered at Innes. “You’re so confident in yourself. Like Ephraim was.”

The way Lyon said Ephraim unsettled Innes – and it wasn’t his usual distaste of the man that made Innes clench his jaw. Lyon looked away, his smile smaller still as he stepped aside from an opening door. Innes followed suit, trying to catch Lyon’s softly spoken words. “I always envied him for that. I suppose I envy you as well.”

“Lyon,” Innes said. The weight of the quiver and Nidhogg over his shoulder and bag reminded him he ought to be on his way to place them away into safety, but his body refused to leave the spot, irritation freezing him right there. As much as he admired Ephraim himself – though loathe to admit it – being compared to that man had always struck a nerve. And it did now, as well. “I can’t say I particularly care for that comparison.”

Though, Innes supposed, Lyon meant it as a compliment.

Lyon’s face fell at his words. The variety of expressions that ran over his face was impressive, but then it settled on withdrawn gloominess. His following words confirmed what Innes had suspected. “Oh. I’m… sorry, I didn’t mean… it was a compliment. I think highly of Ephraim, you know. I’ve always admired him… his confidence, especially.”

Lyon looked down, and Innes’s eyes followed his, landing on Lyon’s hands clutching at the scarf like it was his lifeline. Lyon’s nails dug into the fabric, and for a moment Innes was sure he would tear the piece of clothing apart.

Silence fell between them. The daily life at the castle filled the quiet, but the atmosphere between them remained stagnant and awkward as both looked away from each other.

“I… I’ll get back to studying, then,” Lyon finally murmured. “Have a good afternoon, Prince Innes.” Innes raised his gaze from the stones that made up the floor in time to see the swish of the hem of Lyon’s long tunic as the other prince disappeared into the library.

Had Innes been a less eloquent human being, he would have cursed out loud as the sense of strange guilt began to swell within him.

But as it was, he stomped off instead. Gracefully.

 

*

 

The next day, Lyon didn’t come to watch him, though Innes kept searching for him with his gaze.

Somehow, the lack of Lyon’s presence distracted Innes far more than seeing him from the corner of his peripheral vision had.

And distraction brought mistakes with it.

Innes’s mood remained sour that day and didn’t turn better until he continued his studies of Askran siege tactics that evening.

 

*

 

Lyon did come back to watch him the day after that, however. Innes had begun to consider searching for him and apologizing, which went against his nature, so the sight of Lyon sitting on the side of the field had him sighing in relief before relaxing from his posture. He wouldn’t let Lyon’s presence keep him from finishing, but his conscience burned with something like guilt.

When he got closer, he immediately noticed the difference in Lyon’s posture. His head hung low, showing off his horribly tousled hair, and his eyes didn’t look up even though Innes’s footsteps were fairly audible. Upon even closer inspection, Innes saw Lyon’s hands pressed at his temples, fingers clutching at clumps of hair tightly.

“…Lyon?”

Thin, bony fingers trembled before letting go of the tangled hair, and Lyon raised his head slowly, gaze cast to Innes’s side so that their eyes didn’t meet. The long scratch on Lyon’s cheek caught Innes’ attention, and he squinted at the trail of dried blood against the sickly pale skin. The sounds from other heroes’ training sessions faded into distant background noise as Innes brought his hand to Lyon’s cheek over the small and already healing wound.

Innes studied Lyon’s face in silence as he bent his knees to get to Lyon’s eye level. He had done this with Tana when they were kids when she had cried – Innes had always been taller, although Tana had come closer to his height during the wartime when she had her growth spurt – so the awkwardness of the situation didn’t register to Innes until he saw Lyon flinch.

The eyes looking back at Innes were dim, empty of the usual gentleness that set them alight.

“You were deployed?” Innes rubbed his thumb against the wound. No blood followed the movement. “If that’s the only wound you sustained, you’re in luck.”

Lyon nodded silently.

Innes’s frown deepened, lips curling further down as he studied that face. If he glanced down, he would see the blood stains at the purple sleeves of Lyon’s robe.

“Do I need to take you to a healer?” Perhaps he had suffered a blow to the head. Innes moved his hands to Lyon’s head, feeling it up for any concerning bumps.

“No… I’m all right.” The quiet answer stopped Innes’s hands – or rather, its hoarse tone did. “It’s… I have a headache, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Sounds like something to see a healer about,” Innes said. He couldn’t find any suspicious lumps on Lyon’s head, so he supposed Lyon hadn’t hit it anywhere. That made his distant, dizzy behaviour even more concerning.

“They can’t help with _this_ kind of headache,” Lyon muttered. “I tried before. It doesn’t go away.”

“Rest it is, then.” Innes sighed, as if he needed more things to do today, and withdrew his hands from Lyon’s hair. He ignored how much darker Lyon’s eyes and the bags under them appeared now under direct sunlight. “I’ll walk you back to your chambers.”

Innes helped him up, pursing his lips when Lyon gave a flinch at that touch as well. _What’s the matter with you_ almost slipped past his lips, but this time he reined it in with some difficulty as he began to lead Lyon back to the castle grounds. It was a relatively short walk but felt much longer than previously now that neither of them even attempted to make conversation.

On the way, Innes saw some of the other folk he knew had been deployed earlier that day. It appeared to him that the summoner preferred infantry and horses most of the time, though he spotted a few Pegasus knights coming back from the stables as well.

However, if Innes let his attention stray from Lyon for too long, Lyon trailed further and further behind him, unable to keep up either because of his scattered mind or Innes forgetting to adjust his steps to match the other’s shorter stride.

The practical man that he was, Innes took Lyon’s hand to keep him from falling back. The hand was as soft as ever, but that was lost in the sensation of it trembling like leaves in windy afternoons.

Innes chose not to comment on it. The thought of listening to Lyon’s near lifeless voice didn’t entice him.

Lyon’s hand was clammy, damp with sweat, and uncomfortably warm the longer Innes held onto it, but he wouldn’t let go of it until they made it to Lyon’s door. A couple staircases up the main building, and they made it to the bed chambers intended for the Order’s royal members. There weren’t many luxuries Askr could afford for them, but having been through a war before, Innes couldn’t say he cared much.

The only thing he minded was the lack of means to contact his father and sister, loathe as he was to admit to missing home.

Their steps echoed off the stone floor, Lyon’s softer than Innes’s. They must make a ridiculous scene, what with Innes dragging Lyon onwards like one would do with a stubborn pet.

Four doors down the hallway from Innes’ chambers, Lyon gave his hand a tug, muttering, “This is far enough, Prince Innes.”

The even heavier exhaustion in his voice made Innes halt faster than Lyon’s physical attempt at stopping him. “We’ve arrived, then?”

He hadn’t known Lyon’s chamber was so close by – he had thought it was farther away, as the first days and weeks after Lyon’s arrival had only given Innes a few stray chances to cast his eyes on the other. Hm. Useful information for future endeavours, surely.

“Yes,” Lyon said, but didn’t let go of Innes’s hand. His fingers curled against Innes’, a nervous energy making them fidget. Innes squeezed them, reflexively attempting comfort.

“Do you need anything?” Innes asked, allowing concern to colour his voice just this once. He needed to return to the training fields to fetch his equipment, but…

The memory of Ephraim’s weary _if I had been there for him when he needed it_ stung, its hollow ring echoing deep in Innes.

Lyon looked at him with a silent plea that Innes couldn’t decipher. Lyon didn’t give voice to that plea; instead, he shook his head, eyes shutting. “It’s fine… I’ll lie down for a bit and go down for dinner when I feel better.”

“Very well,” Innes acquiesced as there was little else he could do. Even if it gave him an uneasy feeling – one that would keep him awake late into the night, possibly.

“If you need anything,” Innes said as he let Lyon’s hand go, “I’ll be in my chambers after I finish up outside.”

With Lyon’s nod and a weak smile, Innes left, inexplicable dread hot on his heels.

 

*

 

That night Ephraim had been tired. Everything about him screamed exhaustion, no matter how the crown prince of Renais tried to pretend otherwise.

Though, as Innes suspected, Ephraim hadn’t really bothered to try anymore. Not when it was just the two of them around the small campfire. Ephraim’s retainers and others had insisted on their sleep, that much Innes could still recall with clarity. Seth in particular had been insistent, most likely out of concern for Ephraim’s state of mind.

Ephraim had made promises of upholding his duty to his father and to Renais. Grand promises, as expected of a prince.

But, in the end, Ephraim’s burden was heavy – heavier still with Prince Lyon’s evident betrayal of friendship.

Innes had known these facts and recalling them as he lay in his bed covered in Askran sheets set an uncomfortable knot in his chest. It wasn’t often that Innes sympathised with Ephraim – but that night Innes hadn’t had any choice as Ephraim laid his feelings out in the open.

Ephraim hadn’t intended it, of that Innes was completely sure even now. He and Innes weren’t anything close to being confidants to one another, as both were competitive to a fault in matters of combat and each other.

It had been solid twenty minutes of utter silence, save for the crackling fire and the hooting of owls in the forest they camped at, before Ephraim disturbed it with a heavy and dreary sigh. It had startled Innes more than he cared to admit.

“You know,” Ephraim had begun, “Seth did try to suggest that perhaps Lyon wasn’t as I remembered him some time ago.” The sentence ended the same way it had begun: with a sigh that seemed to rattle Ephraim’s slim frame. “It’s almost comedic that it ended up just as he said.”

Innes remembered thinking, _you naïve fool_.

“Lyon was… did you ever meet him? I don’t think you did,” Ephraim had muttered, mostly to himself, and the tension around his face pulled Innes’s lips down into a frown as well. “Lyon wouldn’t have been comfortable with you.”

Innes didn’t remember what he said to _that_ , but he knew he had at least reacted to it. No matter how accidental the insult was, it was bound to get to him.

In the end, Ephraim continued, his voice barely louder than the fire before them. Bangs of turquoise green hair covered his eyes. “I wonder if this all would not have happened if I had noticed his feelings.”

Again, Innes didn’t remember what he said to that, or if he said anything at all.

Either way, it was then that Ephraim’s tone turned into the heartbreakingly worn quality that Innes remembered with disturbing clarity. “Did I fail him when it mattered most, Innes? Had I been there for him when he needed it…”

Those words echoed through Innes’s head now as he stared up at the ceiling. In the darkness, he saw nothing of it. In his mind, he pictured Ephraim, holding his face between his hands almost angrily as he vented to Innes, the worst possible person for an emotional heart-to-heart. (He himself had to admit that as he did not like dealing with such things.)

And yet… something about Ephraim’s heartfelt words that night had touched Innes, even now as he thought of them. Realising just how significant everything Ephraim did was to him irritated Innes, but there was no helping it now after years of rivalry and attempts at besting the other.

Innes inhaled and turned to his side, tangling his legs in the sheets further. This night had been nothing but tossing and turning, and he could not see it changing anytime soon.

How absolutely irksome it was that Ephraim managed to keep him up like this with nothing more than his memory.

 

*

 

Unbeknownst to Innes, Lyon was having trouble sleeping as well. Unlike Innes, he didn’t remain in bed rolling about and waiting for sleep to catch him. The first few nights after his arrival at the castle he had done so, but when his insomnia refused to leave, he saw no point in wasting time in useless effort to catch sleep.

Now, even though his eyelids were heavy, sleep would not come until much later, and so Lyon lit scented candles – apple, as it wasn’t as invasive a small as some others – and set his written notes on his desk so that he could study what he knew of Zenith so far. That, at least, should banish the heavy weight in his veins and the static ringing in his head.

And it would keep his mind off Innes, whom he had instinctively sought out after returning from the mission Kiran had assigned to him and his team. Staring at Innes’s back and arms as Innes practiced was strangely calming, but it hadn’t helped with the post-battle fuzz in Lyon’s brain. At least Innes’ touch had given him something to focus on. Remembering it brought a faint flush of heat to Lyon’s face.

That heat grew when Lyon remembered how doubtlessly Innes had taken his hand when he had threatened to fall behind Innes’ steps.

It was a hazy memory at best, like most of his memories in general, but Ephraim had told him about Innes at length once when the twins had come to visit him. Lyon had been helping Ephraim with studying when their conversation had taken a life of its own and slipped to Ephraim’s life in Renais and from there it somehow slipped to Ephraim ranting about Innes.

The exact words Ephraim used were lost to Lyon now, but he remembered exasperation sputtering past Ephraim’s mouth like hot lava from a volcano. Perhaps not quite that heated, though.

Lyon remembered thinking that it wasn’t quite like Ephraim to ramble on like that about anything other than his studies – unenthusiastic rambling it might have been but rambling nevertheless.

“He’s nothing like you,” Ephraim might have mentioned, perhaps with a smile. “I actually like you.”

Lyon’s heart still did a nauseating flip at the mere thought of Ephraim saying such a thing, even when he had no right to be feeling like that. Had no right to anything from Ephraim, really.

He shouldn’t think about that. Ephraim wasn’t in Askr – wasn’t in Zenith, period – and Lyon knew these feelings of adoration and inferiority were a problem that led to great sadness in the end.

He shouldn’t think about that.

Lyon’s thoughts trailed back to Innes, which wasn’t much better if he wanted to find peace and sleep. Squinting at his notes, Lyon tried to shift his focus back on them instead of mulling over the comforting feeling of Innes’ hands inspecting his head for any injury and the way Innes’ fingers untangled knots in his messy hair.

Innes had done so without hesitation and awkwardness. It was like Lyon had initially thought: like Ephraim, Innes had self-assured confidence that left little room for confusion and awkward situations.

It was attractive, Lyon thought, even if Innes was a bit much sometimes. His matter-of-fact behaviour could appear hurtful in the right circumstances.

Then Lyon recalled that afternoon in the library, which he and Innes spent talking – or rather, Innes spent it talking and Lyon listening and occasionally providing either questions or trivial facts about the land of his birth. The usual dread that came with thinking about Grado didn’t fill up his heart at that time – perhaps because Lyon didn’t have time to linger on his lack of memories and the feeling of something having gone horribly wrong.

Instead, he had had… a good time. A fun time, even, with someone who was obviously proud of his home and enjoyed talking about it.

Innes’ lopsided smile had been a thing to witness, and as much as Lyon tried to pretend otherwise, his eyes had been drawn to it. It was almost a careless grin, which shouldn’t have suited Innes’s serious face as well as it did. And his voice, strong with conviction…

Lyon closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples, inhaling. As much better as thinking of Innes was compared to his constant anxiety regarding his blurred memories, there was a whole different kind of confusion that came with that. He didn’t want to deal with it, not now.

Lyon brushed some hair behind his ear and flipped a page of his notebook. His handwriting was messy whenever he hurried, and the notes in margins were almost unreadable. Askr, Embla, Nifl… these names repeated on the pages often. The Order’s libraries had given more insight into Embla as an old ally to Askr that had recently turned hostile. Perhaps there was more in the castle’s main library, where Innes had taken Lyon to.

Innes had looked completely at home there, surrounded by shelves and books. Lyon didn’t know how that connected to what he was reading from his notes, but now that he had thought of it, he couldn’t stop himself from venturing further.

If he wanted to draw comparisons between him and Ephraim – something Innes wouldn’t like, as his retort from earlier suggested – then that would be one of the significant differences. Ephraim had never looked more uncomfortable than being surrounded by books when they had studied history together.

Ephraim… Lyon’s heart twisted guiltily. Since coming to Askr, he had had a dreadful feeling about himself and the twins. Like something had gone terribly wrong.

The faded-out memories probably hid something awful. Both Innes and Eirika had given him the kinds of looks that suggested as much, though Innes was much harder for Lyon to read than Eirika. The other prince’s face expressed very little if Innes didn’t choose so or the heat of the moment didn’t get the best of him

Truthfully, Lyon suspected that Innes’ mostly friendly behaviour towards was because of something Eirika might have said to him.

Innes had no reason to act like that towards him after everything that had happened in Magvel, which Lyon still didn’t know the details of. He only knew it was bad, and that he had wanted to save something very dear to him.

Lyon’s head ached from this cycle his thoughts travelled in, and the apple-like scent from the candles only enhanced the pain. Peering at his notes with a frown, Lyon scolded himself inwardly. He wouldn’t be any use to Kiran if he remained like this: unfocused, distracted, and anxious.

Kiran, who had extended their hand to someone like him…

Lyon flipped to another page, each letter in his handwriting looking more incomprehensible than the last. These had begun to detail what the Askran royals had told him and the other newcomers of this world: Princess Veronica, Embla, something about someone called Bruno…

Lyon closed the notebook, and finally let his head sink into his hands as he sighed. Briefly, his mind relocated his thoughts to Kiran, the ever-diligent summoner for this kingdom whose royalty and scenery both painfully reminded him of Renais. If only in superficial things, like the garden and the sibling royals.

It took him almost an hour still before he could bring himself to move to bed. Moonlight slithered into the room from the balcony glass doors as Lyon undressed clumsily, nearly tripping more than once before he managed to drop himself into the bed.  Weariness weighed his bones down, but for a long time Lyon simply lay there staring at the moonlight that illuminated the room in weak but glowing light.

When he eventually fell asleep, his dreams offered nothing but the vague feeling something sharp shoved into his chest and the odd sensation of relief.


	2. II

Lyon usually didn’t enjoy breakfast at the Order’s mess hall. Only when Kiran specifically requested his company did he go down for food in the morning, and even then, he did so with some reluctance. This morning was one of those, Kiran having sent the message via one of the castle maids.

Lyon dressed himself in a loose Askran attire, abandoning the purple and red for the time being. The fabric itched at his sensitive skin, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. His robes still needed washing, or else the blood stains would never leave. Lyon cast said clothing a mournful look as he finished buckling his belt around the loose trousers.

The pale tunic was a little tighter, an odd mismatch with the trousers, but Lyon didn't pay it much mind as he left the chamber and started making his way down towards the mess hall. The first time he had got hopelessly lost, but that time he had discovered the beautiful inside gardens he hadn't thought could possibly exist. Even as winter had gone away, it remained Lyon's favourite place. Eirika and he had taken to having either lunch or brunch with one another there, now that they were talking to one another without flinching.

Eirika still hadn't said much about whatever Lyon had done back in Magvel, though her grim face when they had first seen one another told Lyon enough. 

The mess hall was as noisy as Lyon had known it would be. It made him grimace, his head already pounding with exhaustion and stress. 

At least Kiran was easy to spot. They wore their pure white robe as always, the hood pulled over their eyes as usual. The white-gold attire alone glowed like a lighthouse through the somewhat messy gang of heroes that barely looked presentable at this point of day. Lyon exhaled in relief as he navigated his way through the tables and people to reach Kiran, who was – perhaps surprisingly – alone, a hand tucked under their chin as they stared off into nothingness.

Lyon cleared his throat when he reached the table, careful to not startle them. While Kiran did jump a little, their mouth had already taken on a smile. “Lyon.”

Lyon smiled a little in return.

“You’re not eating?” Kiran pouted, pointedly looking at Lyon’s hands, empty from tray or plate of any sort. “That’s not good.”

“You’re not eating either,” Lyon pointed out, not unkindly, and threw a glance at the empty table before the summoner. He sat down as Kiran sighed, grumbling something about the unfairness of Askr not having Snickers as a meal option.

“I guess it’s a bit hypocritical of me to complain about someone else’s eating habits,” Kiran acquiesced, smile returning to their face. “That wasn’t what I wanted to talk with you about, anyway.”

Lyon wondered if Kiran did this with other heroes as well. Did Kiran invite them over and make them feel almost useful, almost needed?

Possibly. Kiran had told him they had taken a liking to several heroes – which, for some reason, included Lyon, who highly doubted his own battle prowess and general qualities as a human being.

“What was it, then?” Lyon chewed on his lower lip anxiously. He half-expected more questions about the moment he had arrived in Zenith – and the moment Princess Veronica had offered him the contract. The memories were a bit woozy but not as dim as the ones from Magvel, which were blocked by something Lyon wasn’t sure what to call. His own fear, perhaps. His subconscious desire to forget.

Kiran’s eyes bore into him, though Lyon still didn’t see them from beneath the hood Kiran never took off.

“I want to change up your team,” Kiran said, straightforward as ever. Then, gently, they added, “I thought it better to bring it up personally rather than let you see it on the active duty roster Anna’s going to post up soon.”

Lyon considered this, a both dreadful and hopeful feeling gnawing at his heart. “…You’re putting me with Eirika?”

The firm shake of Kiran’s head had Lyon’s shoulders sag. Just a little, before Kiran continued and surprised him: “I was thinking Innes.”

Hearing the name felt like a bucket of cold water thrown over him, for multiple reasons that Lyon didn’t care to think right now. If only his mind were that kind to him.

“Innes,” Lyon repeated, his fingers stiffly fiddling with the hem of his tunic, thumb rubbing against the stripe of gold. The conversations around the mess hall didn’t drown out the beats of his heart, which were three quarters of anxiety and one quarter of… something else. “Is there a reason why?”

Another thought crossed Lyon’s mind, and it pulled his mouth down. “Have I been underperforming with in my current team?”

The thought of disappointing Kiran vexed him – this person had reached out their hand to him on that day when it would have been much easier to leave him behind for Princess Veronica to recollect him. Kiran had taken him, a useless prince, with them, and given him a place to stay, whereas Princess Veronica…

She had forced him to live on when he was at death’s door.

Some days he resented her for it – as vehemently as Prince Alfonse and Princess Sharena resented her for what she was doing – but some days… something like gratefulness swelled deep inside his heart. To be able to live on, even if not in a world that was his, was a wonderful thing. Until the bad days hit, at least. He had been struck by many of those recently.

Kiran cleared their throat, and Lyon nearly jumped out of his skin. “It’s nothing like that,” they said. “I have been considering it for a while. He’s a familiar face to you, and, well, I think you two can enhance each other’s strengths quite well…”

They sounded unsure, as if they were making things up as they kept on talking, but Lyon hesitated to call Kiran out on that.

“Did you tell him to be nice to me?” Lyon asked instead, swallowing. He had assumed that it might have been Eirika that had told Innes to look out for him, but Kiran also made sense. Of course, Lyon thought to himself, he didn’t deserve such unwarranted attention from Innes.

Kiran shook their head again. “I believe that is something he decided to do on his own, as hard as that might be to believe…” Kiran’s lips twitched into a grimace at something they thought of just then. In a whisper, Kiran complained, “I wish he’d stop bringing up my commoner status whenever we discuss strategy.”

“Hmm.” Lyon glanced over to a nearby table, where Innes sat eating breakfast. He hadn’t noticed Lyon’s arrival, he was so immersed in his talk with the violet-haired young woman. Arguing, it seemed – Innes’ face was scrunched up, lips tilted in a displeased manner, and his posture rigid.

Somehow, the sight still brought a warm smile to Lyon’s lips.

(That little voice in his head that didn’t quite sound like his said, _you have a horrible taste._

 _I know,_ Lyon thought.)

“You don’t seem to have anything against the idea,” Kiran observed, the hint of smugness in their voice tearing Lyon’s gaze away from the Frelian prince and bringing heat to Lyon’s face.

“I don’t have anything against _him_ ,” Lyon corrected, fingers clenched around the soft fabric of his tunic. His gulp went inaudible under someone’s shout at the front of the hall. Lyon didn’t turn to look. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, though.”

He had been able to pull his weight with people that didn’t know him or his deeds – of which he himself didn’t know everything either – but…

Lyon recalled the way Innes had looked at him early on in their interactions, stern and suspicious and guarded, and his shoulders slumped again. He wouldn’t be able to do anything if Innes were to keep looking at him that way.

Kiran, for all their claims of being ‘an oblivious fuck’ as they put it, saw his distress and leaned across the table to pat his head.  To Lyon’s credit, he didn’t flinch at the strange, affectionate touch. The first dozen times he had, but as with everything else, he grew used to it.

“Have I _ever_ done anything that would put any of the heroes or their relationships in jeopardy?” Kiran asked as they patted Lyon, a devious grin lighting up their face. “Trust me on this. It’ll work out.”

Lyon huffed, failing to conceal his laughter entirely. “When someone asks something like that, the answer is usually: yes, you have…”

From there, Kiran gave a few more details on what they had been thinking. Not only would he be teaming up with Innes, but also with others from Magvel: a myrmidon that went by the name of Joshua, and a mage Kiran affectionately called ‘that weirdo, Lute’.

“That is quite a few ranged units,” Lyon pointed out. He had no deep interest in military tactics, as the idea of violence associated with them kept him away and uncomfortable, but surely common sense applied here as well.

Apparently not, as Kiran quickly waved that off. “It won’t be a problem.”

“You’re going to run this Joshua ragged, aren’t you?” Lyon already felt bad for him, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was. A nagging feeling in the back of his head said that he _should_ know the name at least. Like someone had mentioned him before.

Lyon’s stomach twisted, a familiar nausea bubbling. Not eating in the mornings was turning out to be one of the few good choices he had made so far.

“Oh, not at all,” Kiran said, scratching their cheek sheepishly. “I anticipate that it’s you that’ll do most of the work.”

“Right,” Lyon said doubtfully. “And cows fly.”

“Oh, have you not seen what Lute gets up to in her spare time?” Kiran giggled, the sound breathless and a little choked as they held their hand over their mouth. “You’d be surprised, Lyon.”

Without a doubt, he would. This world had already stunned him. Even so, he was not quite ready to witness whatever it was his soon-to-be teammate got up to when few were looking.

His mind trailed back to Innes when Kiran had taken their leave, gently insisting that Lyon should grab at least a little bit of porridge to fill his stomach, and a sigh escaped him yet again as he tried to not look in the direction he knew Innes was at.

As if he didn’t have enough to stress over as it was.

 

*

 

Still, he couldn’t keep himself away from watching Innes practice that afternoon despite the slight chill that wrecked his bones. Perhaps he had accidentally left the balcony door open for too long the previous night – that would be enough for him to catch a cold.

Lyon took his usual spot by the side of the field beside the spare equipment Innes had left lying there in case he needed them. Lyon used to watch Innes from farther away, but somewhere along the way he had begun to come closer and closer to study Innes’ stance. And back. And the tension of his arm as Innes aimed, fingers curled tight and delicate around the string.

Lyon couldn’t see his face from this angle, of course, but he could picture a stiff look of concentration sharpening Innes’s features. _Handsome_ was the word that flew by in Lyon’s thoughts, but he quickly shook it away.

He watched Innes release the arrow and kept his eyes on him even as it hit its target. The curls of Innes’ hair looked damp, clinging to skin until Innes rubbed at his neck and ruffled the strands of saturated green.

It _must_ be the approaching cold that made his cheeks flush. Either that, or the self-consciousness that he’d be fighting beside this man soon. _At this point_ , Lyon thought as he stared at Innes picking another arrow from the quiver and pulling back the string of the bow once more, _it could be either one_.

When Innes finally let his shoulders drop and relaxed his grip on Frelia’s sacred weapon, Lyon released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Said breath got caught in his throat when Innes turned to look directly at him in the next moment. Their gazes met, and Lyon could see the faint upturn of Innes’ lips.

That almost-smile remained as Innes came over moments later, greeting him with a sharp nod of acknowledgment as he eyed at Lyon. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Because of yesterday. Lyon distantly recalled the fuzzy out-of-body feeling and the ensuing headache that had dulled his senses and mind. He smiled up at Innes, sheepish as he also remembered the other looking after him. _Am I a bother_ , he wished to ask, but somehow managed to hold in the self-deprecating question.

Instead, his mouth came up with a repetition of what he said once before, “Watching you is relaxing.”

Innes’ brow wrinkled at that, lips twitching and for a moment Lyon worried he offended him before Innes allowed his smile to widen from both corners of his mouth. Like Lyon’s answer satisfied if not even flattered him.

His next suggestion startled Lyon.

“You can join me if you want,” Innes said, fingers tucking stray hair behind his ear. Lyon’s stomach dropped – at the motion of Innes’ fingers and the words.

Lyon stared at him. “I don’t use a bow.”

“Sparring,” Innes corrected. “It’s not as if you’re incapable of fighting.”

The word _sparring_ made Lyon’s blood run cold, and he was sure his face had lost all its blood as Innes’ eyebrows lowered worriedly as the he peered at Lyon. “I assure you, I’m not a dishonourable sparring partner. There is no need to worry.”

“That’s not…” _That’s not the problem._ The sunlight against his skin burned, itched an irritation into Lyon. He remembered – he remembered Ephraim looking at him like that too, once, with furrowed brows and inability to understand. Lyon pursed his lips, dropping his gaze. “I’m hardly… I don’t think I would make a good partner for that.”

Innes stayed silent, but Lyon could feel the stare burning against his skin hotter than the sun’s warm rays. Lyon squeezed at the hem of his tunic, fingers digging into the fabric.

But Innes was nothing if not persistent: he sat beside Lyon, carefully setting Nidhogg and the quiver down before dropping his hand over Lyon’s knee to get his attention. Because Lyon had never stopped acting like a scared mouse since his arrival in Askr, his heart leaped, and his eyes stared at the archer’s fingers against the pale fabric.

“If the idea makes you uncomfortable,” Innes said, “we can start from the very basics.” Then, in a much smugger tone, “I think you’re more receptive to that approach than _that_ man, in any case.”

Lyon blinked. “And what kind of approach would this be…?”

Innes’s smile widened, eyelids sliding almost shut, as he began to explain.

 

*

 

This approach led them back into the castle’s libraries – the Order’s main library, which contained most of the published works on Askran and general military tactics.

“Because children are well-known idiots,” Innes told him, “my father had me study the basic tactics of combat through books and observation before he ever allowed me to lift a bow.”

It was an interesting mental picture that Lyon could see being a truthful one: little Innes – that was the most difficult thing to picture – surrounded by books as the boy studied them with intense determination. It brought a smile to Lyon’s face, silly as it was.

They started going through books together, some of which Innes scoffed at and called them ‘foolhardy from a tactical perspective’, at the most distant corner table covered in piles of books for their shared study sessions. Even if the intention was to prepare Lyon for sparring – to give him intimate knowledge of archers, their equipment, and whatnot – Lyon found himself enjoying it. The process of studying and jotting down notes from books and Innes’ quiet recounts of what he learned from Frelian books and soldiers.

Some part of Lyon knew that this was Innes showing pity to him. There was no other reason someone as skilled, as multitalented, as Innes would offer to extend his knowledge to him of all people if it wasn’t like that.

(“It’s an investment,” Innes had said to him. “I may not get to spar with you today, but one of these days I will.”)

At least, Lyon thought, this was a better way of being pitied than anything else he recalled ever experiencing.

In return, Lyon shared the basics of dark magic – something that every aspiring mage in Grado learned in the very first lessons of it – and found that Innes listened eagerly but silently, the look on his face as intense and focused as it was thirsty for knowledge. Lyon’s words never faltered when he spoke of magic, of the things it was capable of, but there was no doubt his heart was malfunctioning under Innes’ sharp gaze.

He had never been looked at with such intensity before.

(Even _then…_ Ephraim’s gaze hadn’t been as intense as it had been resigned, resigned to his duty, to his and Lyon’s fate. Though the context of that look was lost to Lyon now.)

It threw him off, made him self-conscious, sent his heart into a silly race against itself. It was as exhilarating as it was awful, and Lyon didn’t know how to react.

“Fascinating,” Innes said after every rambling repeat of his childhood lessons that escaped Lyon’s lips. Sometimes, he would lean into Lyon’s personal space and mutter, “Tell me more.”

Moments like that, when scattered over several days and _weeks_ , made Lyon forget the reason behind what they were doing.

Innes’s fascination with listening to him enthralled Lyon.

 

*

 

Between their studying sessions, Kiran did place them into the same team. It came with surprisingly few complications, as everyone involved knew of this ahead of time, but the air of awkwardness didn’t vanish on their first meeting as a team, and not even on the second. The man with the red hair, and an outfit like a uniform fit for a soldier or a mercenary, eyed at him with well-concealed suspicion. Lyon heard his name was Joshua.

Again, the name struck at a memory that Lyon’s mind had no access to. It ceased to matter when Joshua soon stopped narrowing his eyes at him.

Innes and Lute, the young woman with the dark violet hair that Lyon sometimes saw Innes sharing lunch or brunch with, were the opinionated ones – and this meant that they clashed with each other often, leaving Lyon and Joshua listen to their verbal wars with steadily growing dismay and weariness. They never got violent, but the passive-aggressive bickering was a tad much at times.

“Are they always like this?” Lyon muttered to Joshua. Even though it was almost amusing to watch – the way Innes’s nose wrinkled when he was irritated was, dare he say it, _cute_ – Lyon found the arguments and the fire in their eyes worrisome, and they induced knots in his stomach and worry lines on his face.

“From what I know,” Joshua said, shrugging his shoulders. “Pretty heated arguments about weird stuff. Such is life with ‘em.”

“I see,” Lyon murmured just as Lute flicked one of her hairbands at Innes’ face.

 

*

 

Battlefields hadn’t ceased to stress him out since the moment of his arrival, since the moment Princess Veronica had started treating him and coerced him into a contract.

( _“I won’t allow you to die,”_ she had murmured, a childish determination as she had looked at him writhing, a still open wound pierced on his stomach.)

 They filled him with an unspeakable feeling, tried to stir memories that Lyon was terrified of remembering. The feeling would persist until his lungs refused to use air, until the lack of air exhausted him, and an old ache crept across his head as his grip over Naglfar tightened.

Sometime the odd, out-of-body feeling took over him entirely while his mouth uttered the spells and his hand reached out, a wave of black magic rushing out to devour an enemy.

It had happened before his change of teams too, but it felt worse now, the blanks in Lyon’s memory growing darker whenever the feeling swallowed him up in the middle of battle.

However, those blanks remained short and fast-paced – nothing compared to his long-reaching amnesia from Magvel – like the beats of a startled butterfly’s wings. Often, he would blank out and come back seconds later to see an enemy soldier crumbled to the ground. While it startled him, time was precious and the battle already shifting to someone’s advantage or disadvantage.

The tome of Naglfar was heavy in his sweaty hands, offering little to no comfort, but as most of the team were either tome wielders (Lyon, Lute) or archers (Innes), they generally stuck close to each other, ready to assist when one of them was in need, while Joshua dealt with most close combat threats that managed to get near. It worked quite well, though exhaustion ran Lyon down easily, as did those strange moments of out-of-body sensations. Disassociation, he figured, because he never truly wanted to fight these fights, no matter how his own weakness irritated him.

As Lyon had suspected, Joshua ended up with quite the workload, which showed in his ragged post-battle form. Lyon started carrying bandages with him to battle after the first few times he and Innes had to support Joshua between them just so he could make it back to the castle. Joshua would make some quips, Innes would give flat replies, and Lyon would feel completely out of place by their side.

Post-battle interactions with Lute were… interesting. She would stare at him with her sharp, inquisitive eyes to the point where Lyon wondered if there was something on his face – perhaps a _I Have Done Something Wrong, but I Don’t Know What_ sign – until her inexplicable mutterings about his skin showing no signs of putrefaction.

Usually Innes was within the hearing distance, and he would comment, rather harshly, before Lyon had the chance. Usually something along the lines of “is that what you consider good manners these days” – it changed very little through these incidents.

All in all, despite the stress battles brought upon him, Lyon found a sense of belonging in this group, somehow, even despite the strange stares Lute or Joshua sometimes gave him. In the middle of a battlefield, they all trusted each other – or learned to do so.

Everything was almost fine.

 

*

 

Still, this sense of usefulness and belonging didn’t come without a price on his wellbeing. The blank moments during battles followed him back to the castle as a manifestation of headaches, which were especially bad and insistent after the more intense battles or a visit to the Tempest, and those incapacitated Lyon to his bed for hours on end, sometimes leading him to skipping dinner.

During those times, Eirika would bring him leftovers – sometimes she even brought two meals with her, one for each of them, so she could eat with him. 

“I don’t want you to be alone,” she said when he questioned it, her fingers self-consciously tucking a curl of blueish hair behind her ear once the food was set down. “I worry for you, Lyon.”

His head would always prickle at her words, some dark memory nearly resurfacing, but a slight smile emerged to his lips anyways. “Eirika… you don’t have to… not for me.”

The look on her face pierced his heart – there was something absolutely disarming in the way she bit at her lip, in the way her eyes were determined and kind in equal measure – until that dull heartache overpowered the one in his head, if only for a single moment.

The times she insisted that she feed him were the more embarrassing ones.

“You won’t eat if I don’t,” she insisted, holding a spoon to his lips and ignoring the rush of blood that made his face glow. In the past, he would have given anything for this, but… the awkwardness of it stifled him now. And the headache did not help, intrusive thoughts all too ready to resurface between the pounding inside his skull.

Eirika’s smile – Ephraim’s grin – Lyon’s desperate craving for attention and acknowledgment from them. These he remembered having been important. Too important.

Something… he had done something horrible to ruin the first two. And the third one…

The third one was still…

“Lyon?” Her voice, gentle as always, speared his head. The spoon nudging at his lips had been set aside.

“I’m sorry… my head,” Lyon said, softly, hand rubbing at his temple. “I think I have a migraine coming on… could you leave?”

Sometimes he would allow Eirika to stay, to tuck him in and to watch over him, but most of the time Lyon preferred the option to wallow in his dizziness alone. On the nights when he didn’t let Eirika to stay even for the meal, she left behind the food anyway, and pressed her hand to his face and urged him softly to eat later if he felt better.

He rarely ate after Eirika’s departure – at most he nibbled on a piece of bread – and while it made him guilty, as it brought unnecessary work to maids and other servants cleaning his room, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead, he would sink into his bed and take an attempt at rest from reality.

Some nights, sleep came easily with fleeting, skittering nightmares that refused to ease their hold on him. The nightmares were – they were memories because nothing could scare him as much as the painful truths of his life, not all of which he could remember.

Ephraim was in them.

Sometimes dead – killed by Lyon – sometimes walking away from him with a stride Lyon could never catch up to, and when Lyon would yell after him… Ephraim had already disappeared into a suffocating light.

Sometimes Lyon remembered nothing but a hoarse _here I come, Lyon_ upon waking up, his body quaking at Ephraim’s voice ringing in his ears, sweat coating him, and the barely healed scars on his abdomen radiating old pain. The moonlight that slid into the room glowed with cold shine, shattering the comfort of darkness.

For every moment of peace he found in Askr, a nightmare was born in his mind to remind him – _you don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve forgiveness._

Tonight, Lyon slipped out of bed in the wake of one of these nightmares, shakily changed into a loose robe, and ran for the nearest library. The books on the shelf in his room had already been perused several times.

The stone floor was cold under Lyon’s bare feet as he all but escaped from his room, hair a complete mess without the circlet to settle it down, heart heavy and the static in his mind heavier.

In the silence of the night, he could almost hear a malicious laughter bubbling deep inside him.

 

*

 

When he woke up, his head still hurt, but it drowned under all the other aches of his body. The stiffness of his neck especially made him wince, a low groan escaping his mouth only to be muffled by the book he had fallen asleep on. He’d rather stay like this – pretending that there was nothing but the scent of books and the stale air – but someone’s chuckle forced him lift his head up, even if the movement made him dizzy.

His vision was blurry, but Innes’ voice was unmistakable. It was trying to be stern, but the hint of warmth in it made Lyon blink. “Had a good night’s rest, did you?”

“Mmhh…” Lyon lifted a hand to rub at his face, mostly to make sure there weren’t any tears on his cheeks. He couldn’t recall if he had dreamed, which was for the best, but... “What time is it?”

“The sun’s just risen,” Innes said. “I was about to go outside for some early practice, but then I saw that the door here had been lockpicked.”

Lyon straightened his back, ignoring its protests, and wrung his hands sheepishly when he saw that knowing look Innes wore. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ _Poorly_ lockpicked, even,” Innes said, a smile bordering on smirk twisting his mouth upwards, and his eyes gleamed when they observed Lyon. “I knew it had to be someone with innocent intentions for that reason alone.”

“Not all robbers are professionals,” Lyon pointed out, yawning into his hand.

“Are you calling yourself a robber?” Innes snorted, amusement thick in his voice and evident in the way his eyes peered at Lyon. Despite himself, Lyon felt his heart skip a beat, a warmth growing in his chest that soon gripped at him tightly.

Innes’ hand reached out to touch his face, a thumb rubbing over Lyon’s face.

Lyon’s breath halted, everything in him freezing except for the warmth encasing his heart, that spark of fondness that had been growing all this time.

“There’s ink on your face,” Innes explained, his thumb rubbing firmly at Lyon’s skin.

“O-oh,” Lyon murmured, his mouth rediscovering its ability to speak. “Your fingers—they’ll be inky too. I should… I can fetch a handkerchief.”

Innes shook his head, a barely noticeable movement, and his eyes shone intensely under the early morning light that came in fractured pieces into the library.

“It’s too late for that now,” Innes said, his voice low, even though no one else but them was around. His hand stopped moving on Lyon’s face. “Mm, all cleaned up now.”

But Innes’ fingers lingered on Lyon’s flushed cheek, the Frelian prince’s gaze flickering down somewhere Lyon didn’t dare to acknowledge.

It must have been him seeing things, because the next moment Innes was looking into his eyes, his greyish green irises inspecting him like he was an interesting case study.

Suddenly, the nightmares that had driven him to library only hours earlier seemed terribly far away, as distant as Magvel, as small as his everyday worries.

“You look tired,” Innes murmured, not minding Lyon’s lack of words. He sounded odd, almost mumbling words when he usually was so clear-spoken. “I was about to ask whether you wanted to join me, but it appears you need sleep more.”

It was at this moment that Lyon found his voice again as he leaned forward, eyes wide as he said, a little too much in a hurry to pretend composure, “I’d love to.”

Innes’ hand remained on his cheek as the man himself studied Lyon’s face some more. By this point, Lyon was sure Innes could notice how warm his face had turned, and so he pulled away from the touch despite his own reluctance.

Innes hummed, his lips parting as if wanting to say something… until they pressed into the usual thin line again. Lyon tore his gaze away when Innes eventually murmured, “Shall we go, then?”

The smile that grew on Lyon’s lips was soft and unforced as Innes, upon standing up, offered his hand for Lyon to take – which he did.

 

*

 

“Hands-on experience is the best sometimes,” Innes murmured behind him, not even close to Lyon’s ear as Lyon was a whole head shorter than Innes. “We have studied it enough from books, haven’t we?”

Lyon, not entirely sure how things had come to this, swallowed. “Is this necessary?”

“No,” Innes admitted, adjusting Lyon’s hold over the bow and the arrow. “I’ve seen how you deal with archers in battle. But…”

“But?” Lyon repeated when Innes didn’t immediately continue.

The sun’s rise from the east cast a pale orange tint over the training grounds, the cool warmth of it washing over them and the other early birds around. The actual birds kept their songs to themselves, and so Lyon was intimately aware of Innes’ breath and touch on him in the relative silence of the early morning.

“But,” Innes said, a little breathless, “I…”

Lyon’s heart shivered at that.

“I think…” Innes’s voice sounded hesitant – an odd tone to a usually confident prince. Vulnerable, even, and Lyon ached to turn to look at what kind of face Innes was making to match that voice.

Innes’s hand holding his over the bow’s string didn’t tremble; Innes was an experienced archer, after all. No little burst of emotion could shake that steady hand.

Innes exhaled, loudly, his frustration with himself audible. His hand held onto Lyon’s tighter. “…I’m being foolish right now.”

 _So am I,_ Lyon wanted to say, but the words got stuck in his throat, under the fluttering of his heart.

“In any case,” Innes said, pulling at Lyon’s arm, helped him aim at the target in the distance, “let’s not keep on dawdling.”

Lyon almost laughed, the giddy feeling in his chest intense, as he thought, rather dreamily, _if only this could last for a bit longer._

If only…

When Innes and he let the arrow fly, it missed the target by a large margin.

This time, Lyon did laugh – why, he didn’t know, he just failed at yet another thing – and even Innes chuckled, though not at Lyon’s effort.

“Not a bad start,” he said even as he readjusted Lyon’s position.

“It was terrible,” Lyon said. Somehow, he didn’t mind the failure that much.

 

*

 

Innes was sure that, in all his life, he had never felt quite as foolish as he did now. Nor as stupidly irritated with himself – with others, yes, but never with himself, despite being hard on himself in his studies and combat training. All in all, it was a novel experience –  one that he could do very well without.

The early practice session, which he had spent bending Lyon into appropriate stances, weighed on his mind, the memory of it taunting him, mocking him.

Innes’ gaze had rested on the top of Lyon’s head more than once, an idle urge to lean in and smell the sleep-tangled curls of hair simmering deep in him all the while. Thinking on his behaviour now made Innes’ fingers clench around the porcelain cup he sipped tea from as Lyon ate breakfast in soft silence across from him.

Even now, Innes couldn’t help but study Lyon’s face closely, even though it was a face he had seen many times over the weeks and months now, in and out of combat. The dark rings under Lyon’s soft, expressive eyes screamed weariness, as did the pallid colour of his skin, yet… Innes found himself drawn to it, drinking in every detail as if he hadn’t noticed them before.

It was _frustrating_ , getting distracted to this extent by a pretty face, and Innes had half the mind to slap himself for it. The only reason he didn’t do it was that it would startle and worry Lyon, who already was a walking pile of worries. Even if Lyon didn’t talk about his worries out loud much.

Innes had the stupidest urge to put his hand over Lyon’s now like he had done not too much earlier, to look into his violet eyes, and…

Innes decisively cut that train of thought right there. _Nonsense._

“Is there something on your mind, Innes?” Lyon’s murmur pulled Innes away from his inward crisis. Those pale violet eyes looked at him, inquisitive and half-worried, the dark rings under them almost black under the morning sunlight infiltrating their table. Innes felt a pinch of guilt in his heart at that – he ought to have escorted Lyon back to sleep as he had initially suspected.

“You look annoyed,” Lyon added. “Is it something I—”

“No, it’s not,” Innes interjected, perhaps a bit harshly as Lyon’s shoulders slumped and his gaze dropped. Innes’ frown deepened – ugh. “I’m thinking… about irrelevant things. I keep getting distracted.”

His mouth almost continued with _you’re entirely too distracting_ , but this time Innes managed to control it.

“That is the same as having something on your mind,” Lyon pointed out, after swallowing down a piece of bread, crumbs of it getting stuck on the corners of his lips. Innes pretended to not notice, closing his eyes and taking a long sip of the tea. This time it was bitter, thankfully so – it pulled his attention away from Lyon.

Lyon’s foot nudged at his under the table, and Innes raised his gaze to him again, this time with raised eyebrows.

“You can tell me if I’ve done something wrong,” Lyon insisted, still smiling but now his expression looked painful, bordering on guilty. His fingers started fidgeting with his cutlery, metal clashing against his plate. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

The only thing Lyon was guilty of – well, asides from… the obvious, Innes conceded to himself – was the confusing mess that was Innes’ innermost thoughts and urges.

Not that Innes would admit that.

(Eirika was one thing, but Lyon? Innes would not accept falling for yet another one of Ephraim’s companions.)

“Trust me,” Innes said, a bit impatiently as he set the tea cup down with a _clink_ , “if you had, I would be telling you about it.”

“But…” Lyon frowned, and Innes’ fingers itched to sweep the wrinkle between those brows away. “What’s wrong, then?”

Innes took his time to consider what to say. Honesty, no matter how painful it was, was usually his choice of poison, but here…

“Perhaps I too am a little more tired than I thought I was,” Innes ended up saying, words accompanied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You needn’t worry about me.”

“Then you should rest,” Lyon said, tone gentle. It had a similar effect on Innes as the sight of Frelian pegasi gathered in his homeland’s skies – the calm that it settled in Innes smoothed the sternness away from his face. Lyon smiled sheepishly. “I was always scolded for working too hard, too…”

Then, those violet eyes, usually dim with an underlying melancholy, lit up. “Innes… perhaps… would you like to join me when I go to town later today?”

Innes was in luck for not being in the middle of drinking or eating – although his hands had gone back to his utensils – as he would have spat out anything in his mouth in reaction to Lyon’s suggestion, as undignified as that would have been.

Much to his embarrassment, Innes felt a flush creep up his face. Ugh. He didn’t even know _why_ the suggestion had him react like a lovesick fool. Clearing his throat and looking away, hands gripping the knife and fork hard enough to nearly hurt, Innes managed a clear, if not awkward, answer. “I’d be honoured to accompany you.”

The answering smile from Lyon caught Innes’ breath.

 

*

 

Innes was a very level-headed man, even with his emotions. ( _Hah_ , Tana would snort, because Tana’s mission in her current station of life was to make a mockery of his efforts. At least the one’s that Innes carried in his heart.)

He abided by certain rules under most circumstances, especially where emotions were concerned. However, could he continue to do so here when his existing rules didn’t appear to apply? It was a dilemma. Because Lyon was…

Perhaps that was why he found himself at loss now as he was faced with an uncertain situation he hadn’t prepared for.

It wasn’t anything more than a friendly outing, Innes knew as he changed into one of his casual attires, spending perhaps five minutes too long on adjusting and straightening the cravat around his neck and definitely not squinting at a mirror. Still, friendly outing or not, Innes didn’t want to give Lyon the idea that he didn’t care enough to clothe himself properly.

When Lyon opened his chamber door for him, the widening of those soft violet eyes said that he hadn’t expected what he was seeing. Lyon appeared to freeze on the spot entirely, mouth slightly agape as if he had been about to speak but found himself unable to do so now.

Innes’ own lips fell open, and he tried his best to not gawk like a slack-jawed fool. He could say that, but all the effort went out the window of his brain when his eyes landed on the pins stuck to Lyon’s hair and a flower accessory stuck to the side.  The pale pink petals looked even softer against the lavender colour. Why the sight fascinated him so, Innes would refuse to answer even to himself.

Lyon wore lighter clothing than usual, Innes noted, still distracted by the hair and Lyon’s eyes peering at him in surprise. Those long lashes attracted Innes’ eyes to them.

“Ah,” Lyon found his voice first. Innes stared at the movement of his eyelashes, at the timid fluttering. Lyon’s hand reached to touch his own hair, self-consciousness evident as his palm pressed against the accessory. “Princess Sharena insisted…”

“It looks charming,” Innes interrupted. He would not have Lyon take the flower off. “Pale pink suits you.”

Lyon’s face relaxed at that, his lips curling upward enough for the smile to be visible. “Thank you for saying that.”

Lyon eyed him in return, the shine in his eyes intense as he looked him up and down. Innes’ chest tightened from the close inspection, leaving him a little at a loss until Lyon continued, quietly so no possible passer-by would catch it, “You look very handsome.”

The flush that rose on Lyon’s face at his own words was bright and a good look on him – Innes made sure to memorize it, the sight so fascinating he felt himself melting. An odd nervousness fluttered alive in his stomach, as if a shock of thunder magic had grazed him.

How had he seen that blush before and _not_ felt himself completely surrender to it?

Innes managed one of his usual half-smiles, filled with confidence and an air of self-satisfaction. “I always aim to please.”

Lyon’s own smile obviously threatened to widen, but a bite at his lower lip contained it. Innes found himself rather disappointed, but he didn’t dwell on it when Lyon mumbled, “I’ll get the coin purse, alright?” and turned around.

Innes stood there for possibly a little over two minutes, but it felt like he spent an eternity spent thinking on his current dilemma. The sounds of servants and other castle occupants drowned under his musings, from which he only awoke when Lyon closed the chamber door in his wake and gently nudged at Innes’s elbow.

Instinctively, Innes offered his arm for Lyon to take, which Lyon did after some hesitation and a glance at Innes’s face.

If Lyon leaned against Innes ever so slightly on their way out, Innes didn’t notice. Definitely not.

 

*

 

The size of the castle town didn’t measure up to Frelia’s capital – very few population centrals did. However, the mundane feeling that hung over the town like a warm blanket was relaxing: the street performers sang and danced to instruments unfamiliar to Innes’ ears and were, perhaps precisely for that reason, captivating. He and Lyon made slow progress with their walk as Lyon tugged at him to stop at every chance to watch something, be it a street performance or a fascinatingly structured building.

It was midsummer, and the celebrations would last well over the weekend, or so the people they met said when prompted. The town centre was covered in decorative banners of blue and white, some gold trimmings thrown between the colours of the sky and its clouds.

It would be easy to find himself immersed in the entirety of it, but Innes’ eyes kept falling to the man beside him. Lyon looked different now than he had in the morning: the pallid, almost sickly colour had gone away from his face entirely, now replaced by gently glowing warmth and slight flush (the sun being the most likely culprit for that), and the bags under his eyes had faded, though not gone away completely.

And he still hadn’t let go of Innes’ arm.

Innes was immensely, _intensely_ aware of that – as well as of the brush of Lyon’s shoulder against his upper arm.

The people around them spoke in cheerful tones, even the grumpiest-looking men. From what Innes gathered from scattered sentences hanging in the air, everyone was looking forward to the bonfire that would be set on fire outside the town later. Something of an annual tradition, Innes heard.

“Where were you planning to go?” Innes inquired after they left a third street performance behind them – after Lyon had tossed a few coins into the cap at the guitarist’s feet – and steered Lyon away from the thick crowd and towards the cool shade the taller stone buildings cast.

Looking at the capital of Askr, of which this was only the small portion of, one would never know the country was at war with a neighbouring nation. Not today, at least – Innes had been to the town centre before, and on those visits, it had appeared gloomy, the residents weary and a little fearful of what their futures would hold.

Today, none of that showed.

Maybe that was why Lyon seemed much less withdrawn than usual as he leaned closer to Innes, so he would hear his voice. “Bookshop.”

“…The castle has excellent libraries,” Innes pointed out, guiding Lyon over the bumps on the street and towards the nearest shop nevertheless. An occasional carriage passed by, Lyon leaning closer against him instinctively, and Innes quietly marvelled at the weight of Lyon’s head against the side of his shoulder.

“I know,” Lyon said, an odd undertone to his even voice, “but I want to have something just to myself.”

Innes’ thoughts were traitorous today. _You can have me_ surfaced so easily, as if waiting for Lyon’s words, and it stayed. Innes swallowed as if that would banish the sentence from his mind. It was an unnerving thought that he didn’t know what to do with – and it was far too intense for the companionship he shared with Lyon.

A folk song started to play somewhere to their right, an odd mixture of string instruments and as confusing as Innes’ feelings had been this entire day.

“You can have anything you want, can’t you?” Innes murmured. The nostalgic lilt of the violin played a background tune to their conversation. “You’re a prince, too.”

“Being a prince, for me… it has never been a privilege I enjoy,” Lyon answered quietly. His voice remained even and soft, but the words were disquieting, unnerving. Lyon shut his eyes, long lashes resting against his skin for a fleeting moment. “The only thing I gained that I truly wanted… was knowledge. But other than that, I…”

In that moment, Lyon looked frail, vulnerable, even more so than in the previous instances of Lyon speaking of his weaknesses. Innes stared at him and studied that soft face that looked far too breakable now.

“I always… felt that I had nothing,” Lyon continued, a choked laughter accompanying the words. Innes’ brows slid downwards into a frown; he hadn’t intended to bring Lyon’s mood down. Even though he wasn’t sure how things had gone this far downhill.

Lyon’s gaze turned towards him, no longer studying the smooth stones of the road, and the melancholic smile shone in his lilac irises intensely.

Innes nearly choked on his breath.

“It’s a superficial fix,” Lyon said, “but having a book that I can write my own notes on… it would give a sense of meaning to me. Maybe a journal… In this world, where I am nothing and where I do have nothing… my thoughts and knowledge are all I have.”

Innes bristled at the word _nothing_ – ready to protest – but Lyon’s eyes on him steadied his tongue and his urge to snap. Lyon said, his smile as soft as his eyes, “In a way, I feel better being nothing here than I ever felt being a prince in Grado.”

“Your solution is to… start purchasing books for your own personal collection?” Innes asked, more brittle than intended.

Lyon didn’t seem to mind as he held onto Innes’s arm tighter, his fingers tentatively fiddling with the fabric of Innes’ shirt. “I know it must sound silly. But it’ll be something I don’t have to share with anyone else… something no one will compete against me for.”

Innes couldn’t say he understood the thought process, but the sincerity in Lyon’s voice and on his face spoke volumes. “Mm. If you don’t mind me saying… you don’t exactly have _nothing_ here either.”

Lyon’s head dipped down, his smile smaller. “Yes… I’ll not take Kiran’s kindness for granted.”

Innes kicked a rock away from their path, staring at its travel between people’s feet as he swallowed his pettiness. “I rather meant… the friendships you have formed here.”

Lyon laughed, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Innes frowned harder, unable to see what was so funny about it. “Eirika was my friend before, Innes. It’s not new…”

“You still _have_ that, though,” Innes pointed out, steering Lyon away from a passing carriage’s way. The horse’s hooves hit the stones with audible _clack clack_ , the sound soon drowning under all the others. Muttering in a low voice, Innes added, “And I did not mean Eirika.”

“Huh? Then what did you—” Lyon yelped, the tip of his boot catching on the edge of a stone, staggering forward and nearly falling. Only nearly, because Innes quickly caught him, his arm suddenly draped around Lyon’s waist.

“Careful now,” Innes said, heart racing from the sudden adrenaline rush, as he helped Lyon upwards and adjusted the bag hanging from Lyon’s shoulder. His hand stayed on Lyon’s shoulder afterwards, lingering over the light fabric of Lyon’s tunic.

Strands of Lyon’s hair brushed against the back of his hand, and Innes bit at his lower lip. He wasn’t ticklish. He _wasn’t_.

Lyon’s hands rested against Innes’ chest now, as if attempting to push him away. The shove never came, though; instead, Lyon’s fingers curled into Innes’ shirt as Lyon pinned Innes with a wide-eyed stare.

“Are you all right?” Innes murmured as he brushed his thumb against the curve of Lyon’s neck, sliding over the pulse point. From this angle, with rays of sunlight and flickers of shadows dancing across the face, Lyon’s flush was as obvious as the stone cathedral looming in the distance.

“Um.” Lyon bit at his lower lip in search of his voice. It took a few attempts, lips parting and closing with each effort, but eventually Lyon managed a quiet “yes, I’m fine”.

Lyon didn’t let go just yet, his eyes narrowing as they studied Innes. “What did you mean… you didn’t mean Eirika?”

Innes inhaled, forcing his eyes to focus on the pinned flower in Lyon’s hair instead of that distracting ( _handsome, pretty_ ) visage. The pink petals looked near translucent in sunlight.

“I meant,” Innes said slowly, quietly enough so the words threatened to drown under the background noises, “that you have me too, don’t you?”

He heard Lyon’s breath stutter and felt the way Lyon’s fingers dug into the front of his shirt. The distance between them was near non-existent as they stood still, frozen in their own little world of disarrayed emotion as the lively sounds around town faded from their ears.

“Innes,” Lyon started.

Nothing came after that. Innes lowered his gaze back to Lyon’s face. The red colour ran across his soft features, starting from the tip of his nose. Lyon’s lips finally parted, words stuttering out, “I can… call you my friend, then?”

“Obviously,” Innes blurted out before Lyon had even finished the sentence. “I don’t tolerate people whose company I don’t enjoy.”

Lyon’s expression turned even more flabbergasted, genuine surprise alight on his face and posture, and for many moments neither of them said a thing and simply stood there, eyes glued to each other.

Lyon was the one to pull away from the tension, glance sliding away from Innes’s face and hands leaving Innes’s shirt. “We should… keep going. The bookshop I want to try shouldn’t be too far away, according to Prince Alfonse.”

“Right.” Innes looked away, dropping his hand from Lyon’s shoulder.

The enchantment of the moment was lost, then.

Lyon didn’t reach out to take his arm this time.

 

*

 

The bookshop trip went… well, Innes would like to think, asides from the awkwardness that burst out after the tripping incident. The shop in question was at the corner of the shopping district, tucked out of sight from the busiest roads, with a homely look to it and a bell that rang clearly when they entered the shop.

Lyon had relaxed immediately upon entrance (Innes hadn’t, too busy wallowing in his own idiocy) and taken to inspecting the section of newest publications. His eyes gleamed and fingers fiddled with the book covers like they were made of the finest fabric. The shop’s lighting was dim, as sunlight merely brushed the walls outside without coming in. Studying Lyon in the shadowy shop wasn’t too difficult, and so Innes’ head kept turning towards him.

They spent quite a while in there, Innes eventually going through the selection of books and maps as well. As they weren’t scheduled for anything other than the setting up the bonfire that night, wasting time wasn’t as bad a crime as it otherwise would have been. The dusty air itched at Innes’ nose, and Lyon sneezed audibly a few times as well, but other than that, they remained in companionable silence.

In the end, they both left the shop with a couple books each – and Lyon with a few bottles of ink in addition to the rest – and returned to the castle slowly, still stopping by the most charming street performances. This time, a few flutists had joined in, filling the air with light, mischievous music that didn’t match the serious times at all.

Lyon’s quietly content smile, the relieved hunch of his shoulders, and him reaching out to take Innes’ arm again, however, put Innes much more at ease than the townspeople and their cheer could.

Which was mildly concerning.

 

*

 

Innes would have resumed scolding himself for his current idiocies back at the castle, but by then it was already the time to go build and burn the bonfire with the Askran royalty and their citizens. Anna, the commander with hair redder than blood, waved her hand and said everyone needed days off sometimes when Innes inquired the reason behind this.

“You know,” she had added, a knowing smirk tugging at her mouth, “it’s a good date spot.”

As if Innes hadn’t just spent a considerable amount of time with Lyon already— _no, Innes, don’t think about it that way, you fool._

The royals – those of Askr, and those of the other worlds – took carriages to the spot, while others rode or shared a horse. Looking through the half-open window of his carriage, Innes could see Lute sharing a horse with Seth, whose face remained impressively neutral even as Lute appeared to be muttering something. Innes had to commend him for the obvious patience.

Eirika, sitting on the opposite side of him, also saw it. A smile bloomed on her face, followed by a short, embarrassed laugh. “I feel a little bad for making him take care of Lute.”

“Well, she couldn’t fit in here anyway, and your own horse needed rest,” Innes pointed out. “You made the right choice.”

Eirika sighed. “I don’t know about that.”

The four of them – Innes, Eirika, Lyon, and Joshua – spent most of the ride in refreshing silence, the usual carriage sounds filling it in, but on occasion someone would take note of the passing sceneries and comment on them. The ride was about three quarters of an hour, which passed in companionable silence for most part as each of them had their own thoughts to dwell on. 

Joshua noticed their destination first. “Looks like they’ve already started.”

Upon getting out of the carriage some minutes later, Innes saw for himself that Joshua was right. People had begun hacking down trees and branches for the bonfire that the Askran royals were to light up in a few hours.

Impressively, the crowd gathering the wood was possibly twice the number of heroes that Kiran had summoned to their barracks. In that crowd, Joshua disappeared while Eirika went to join Lute and Seth, though not without apologizing to Lyon for leaving him with “a sometimes pretty difficult person”.

“I’m right here,” Innes would have said, but she was already gone.

Lyon sighed, shaking his head with an air of bemusement. “She says that, knowing that I don’t mind it at all…”

Innes didn’t know how to react to that, so he didn’t – instead, he simply announced that it was time for them to go help too.

And they did.

 

*

 

Of course, Lyon being physically weak, he had preferred to not get involved with the cutting down trees part, no matter how old and decayed the wood was.

“I wouldn’t trust myself with sharp objects,” Lyon had added in a low whisper.

Instead, Lyon focused on helping with the building the foundations of the bonfire, which was supposed to be taller than even the tallest people among the builders. It was physical labour, but Lyon was surrounded by people willing to help whenever Innes cast a glance in the direction between his own work.

The beginnings of the unlit bonfire were forming on the sandy shore of a lake, which stretched blue all the way to the horizon and beyond. Endlessly calm, despite the hustling going on at the shore and the incessant noise pollution that came from people.

Piece by piece – branch by branch – the bonfire took form and climbed higher towards the sky and the white clouds, which the sun painted with every colour between yellow and red. By the end of it, most people – and heroes, even most of the royals – sweated like pigs and other such creatures, but the satisfaction and joy that hung in the air made everyone’s exhaustion dissipate fast.

By the end of it, Innes was too tired to join in the laughter, and so he sat down on one of the trunks used as a makeshift bench around a small campfire. He had caught a glimpse of Joshua helping Lyon out with a particularly tall branch earlier but now he couldn’t see either one of them.

Innes took a sip from his flask of water to drive away the thought. Hadn’t he spent a considerable portion of the day with Lyon already? Both had earned some downtime for one another by now, even if Innes really wouldn’t mind more of—

That was when Lute subtly – or not so subtly – sidled up next to him.

“You may not suffer from putrefaction, but you do have the sickness of love written all over you,” Lute said with the voice of a researcher that had discovered an interesting new specimen. “How intriguing.”

This time, Innes did spit out what he had been drinking. “What nonsense is this?”

Lute, twirling a curl of hair with her finger, smiled. _Like a devil_ , Innes thought. Lute’s smiles, when directed at him, reeked of danger and idiocy. Like now. “It’s written all over your face, prince of Frelia.”

Innes levelled her with a dead-eyed stare, which didn’t deter her in the least. Instead, she kept fiddling with her hair as leaned back on the tree trunk. An all-knowing smile twinkled in her eyes, further proving Innes that she was indeed infuriating.

“I have _no idea_ what you are saying,” Innes insisted, pocketing the flask. He turned his head to stare at the pile of tall branches and thin, decayed trunks that made up the skeleton for the bonfire. The structure was coming along well, and it almost blocked Innes’ view of the lake behind it. “Please do take your nonsensical idiocy away from me.”

“Playing the denial card, now, are we?” Lute’s laughter was short, irritably delighted at Innes’ internal plight (that didn’t exist). As if she had expected it from him. “…Yes, you’ll make a wonderful case study.”

Innes bit back the urge to groan at the young woman’s irritating habit of nosing around, all in the name of her research. “Lute, don’t push my buttons. A commoner such as you—”

“I’m _hardly_ a commoner,” Lute interrupted. “ _Mage extraordinaire_ is the title I go by. It is far more truthful.”

This was not the first time they had exchanged these precise words, and so Innes sighed and reluctantly let go before it could escalate into a full-blown argument where both would question each other’s capabilities, even if they normally acknowledged each other.

Lute, however, had no intention of giving up her previous train of thought. “As I was saying… what’s happening to you shows on your face. Fascinating. Are you planning on doing anything about it?”

Something about _Lyon_ …

“No,” Innes said.

“You _do_ acknowledge it,” Lute said smugly and leaned closer, her eyes curious as they inspected his face. “Interesting. I must make an entry of this in my research notes.”

“Don’t,” Innes hissed, Lute getting on every one of his nerves the more she insisted. “Don’t you have a significant other to tend to?”

Lute wasn’t deterred by the reference to Eirika, though her eyes gained a few more twinkles. Innes’ scowl appeared only to encourage her further. “Oh, she understands. She rather enjoys seeing you rattled, you know.”

“Why does she have to be similar with Ephraim in _this_ way?” Innes grumbled under his breath as he tore his eyes away from Lute and her insufferable face, relocating them on the nearly finished bonfire. The only thing missing now was the fire itself, and Innes already saw a few dark mages hovering around, just waiting for the permission from the Askrans to set the carefully constructed pile of wood in flames.

Soon Innes’ wandering eyes found Lyon, who also hovered by the wooden structure. From the distance, and through the crowd, Innes couldn’t be entirely sure, but it appeared he was conversing with one of the mages. A riveting conversation, Innes was sure.

“I’ll keep an eye on you two,” Lute said from his side, but Innes barely heard the words as he watched Lyon tuck hair behind his ear, his posture radiating sheepishness and self-consciousness.

“Of course,” Innes said, belatedly realizing Lute had said something.

 

*

 

Several barrels of wine and beer had been dragged from the castle cellars to the bonfire’s location, more than enough to fill the stomachs of everyone gathered around. Innes didn’t bother fetching himself a goblet just yet, though other people had begun drinking conservatively around the lake. Most of the alcohol was for after the bonfire would be set to burn to crisp, Innes assumed.

Joshua and Lyon joined them at the campfire not too much later, following Eirika. Each had a goblet filled with wine in their hands – Eirika had two, one of which she gave to Lute as she tucked herself beside her – on their arrival, though none looked particularly affected by the drink yet.

 “They’re lighting the bonfire soon,” Lyon murmured as he sat beside Innes, closer than what was appropriate.

Perhaps Lyon was a little affected.

“Apparently,” Innes said, watching Lyon take a sip from the goblet. “How is it?”

“It’s all right as far as wine goes,” Lyon murmured, giving him a sideways glance. “Do you want to try it?”

Innes looked down at the goblet, at the red liquid, before his gaze returned to Lyon’s face. Strange how much more he wanted to stare at it than drink that wine. Innes shook his head, saying lowly, “I confess I’m biased for Frelian wine. Nothing can come even close to it, I’m afraid.”

Lyon snorted a quiet laugh at that, though Innes saw nothing funny about what he just said. Lyon inched closer, moving the goblet into Innes’ hands. “At least tell me how it compares, then. Now I’m interested in hearing your opinion.”

Innes thought he heard someone else chuckling – possibly Joshua – but he paid it no mind as he took the offered goblet, pleased Lyon was interested in his opinion. Lyon was a good listener, so it wasn’t surprising. “If you insist.”

Twirling the goblet before bringing it to his lips, Innes tried to focus on the drink rather than the press of Lyon’s body against his own and how Lyon seemed to search for his warmth instead of the campfire’s. Innes closed his eyes, mostly to ignore Lute and Joshua’s knowing smiles around the fire. Finally, he took a short sip from the side of the goblet Lyon’s mouth hadn’t touched, the wine tingling on his lips and burning in his throat.

“Mm,” Innes hummed, pressing his lips together to taste the lingering sweetness. “Not bad, even if we’re making an unfair comparison.”

“Where does it fail in comparison to, well… Frelian wine?”

Innes snorted, handing Lyon the goblet back and wilfully ignoring how his fingers tingled when they brushed against Lyon’s hand. “In everything.”

“How specific,” Lyon laughed. It was a sweet, unrestrained sound. “My tutors would give me a failing grade for that kind of answer back home.”

 Innes smiled against his own will. “I can give you a proper lecture on it if you so wish.”

Lyon laughed again, and Innes silently suspected Lyon had had more wine than he had initially suspected. No matter, though. If a little alcohol raised Lyon’s spirits to this point and had him laugh like this, Innes couldn’t honestly say he minded. Though he did try to tell himself that he did in fact mind it, especially when Lyon’s free hand dropped down over his, skin against skin. It was all very unconvincing when Innes’ skin burned at the touch, every bit of him a little too aware of Lyon’s hand.

Joshua, seated across from Innes on the other side of the fire, smiled infuriatingly beneath his overgrown bangs of hair and the hat tilting low over his face. Joshua could mock him without ever uttering a word, like now, and it made Innes scowl. That scowl soon turned into confusion when Joshua began making incomprehensible gestures with his hands, which in turn made Innes raise an eyebrow at him and Joshua sigh in exasperation in return.

Eirika and Lute didn’t pay much attention to what was going on, both immersed in their own quiet conversation and drinks. The few times Innes glanced over in their direction, Eirika appeared to hold back a fit of laughter, teeth biting into her lower lip, though an undignified snort tended to escape anyway. As for Lute, Innes fully ignored her existence.

Half an hour later after Eirika, Lyon and others joined him, the bonfire was lit. There was no grandiose speech from anyone, not the royal siblings, not commander Anna – merely an “It’s gonna be LIT!” from the summoner, who kept cackling for solid two minutes afterwards for some reason.

They didn’t need to get up from their seats to get a good look.  The growing flames began licking at the bark of the wooden structure and soon grew in brightness, bonfire flaring to life, and the crowd in the immediate vicinity of it quickly dissipated as the heat got too much to bear on this summer evening.

“I heard,” Lyon murmured to him as they watched the growing storm of flames, “they use it to banish evil spirits. The magic of nature, someone called it.”

Innes listened to Lyon speak of the Askran traditional beliefs – something he himself hadn’t thought interesting enough to do research for – and found himself captivated the more Lyon continued rambling on. He wasn’t caught up only with Lyon but also the bonfire that burned bright against the background of blue.

Innes had never had to deal with magic as Frelia lacked mages of any kind. Perhaps it was the exotic nature of it that enraptured him now; perhaps it was the fact that anything could sound interesting with Lyon’s soft, subtly excited voice.

They went to fill their goblets with wine every now and then – Innes got one for himself, too – and roasted fish and vegetables for light dinner, just like the other dozens of people gathered near the burning bonfire and around their own small campfires. From a higher altitude, the lake’s shore and the clearing would shine with dozens of lights: for wyvern riders and Pegasus knights, Innes imagined, the sight would be breath-taking.

It was midsummer, and so the dark came very late into the night, descending upon them slowly but inevitably. The stars twinkled in the cloudless sky, the night air was pleasant, and Lyon was still talking about the traditions Innes didn’t have prior interest in.

Which didn’t explain how Innes ended up following Lyon when he left the campsite to gather plants and flowers for the sake of such traditions.

“Midsummer magic,” Lyon had explained with slightly slurred words and a dreamy look mostly brought upon by the wine, “was usually used for romantic predictions and such.”

“Why?” Innes inquired as he helped Lyon step over a particularly nasty root of a tree. “Why such interested in…”

“I don’t think it works,” Lyon confessed, a bit breathless, and clung to Innes’ arm as he nearly tripped. Innes steadied him before slowing their steps down to matching pace. “It’s harmless fun these days, I hear. No one gets hurt, even if some of the traditions call for… public indecency.”

Lyon looked somewhat embarrassed when he said that. Innes fought back a smirk at the sight.

“I suppose I do see your point,” Innes admitted, peering around the clearing for flowers or herbs Lyon could use for this experiment. Seven different plants, the tradition went, for the chance of a future spouse visiting in a dream. “At least,” Innes said dryly, “you’ll have nice dreams, if nothing else.”

“Hopefully,” Lyon hummed as he nudged at Innes’ sleeve and pointed at a flower. Its soft blue petals were curling in on themselves, ready to shut for the night. Innes bent down to pick it from him, the stem’s snap inaudible over both of their breaths. Innes pressed the flower into Lyon’s hand, and Lyon put it into the pouch he carried with him.

Lyon whispered an after-thought, “I think it’s just going to be the same dream about Ephraim again.”

Innes nearly tripped over himself, his heart jumping at those words. Not the disgustingly pleasant leap that made his blood rush – this one brought dread down to the pit of his stomach.

It didn’t matter – it didn’t matter – it didn’t matter that Lyon was obviously hung up on Ephraim.

“What?” he blurted out.

It _did,_ actually.

“It’s not a really nice dream,” Lyon murmured, his words slurring at the edges again, “but I’m s’posed to be used… used to it by now.”

“Lyon…” Innes’ nerves settled disgustingly fast, the relief in him completely unjustified. How stupid could he be?

“I want to have nicer dreams than that,” Lyon said, leaning against Innes’ shoulder as they walked – no, stumbled – forward. “Why can’t _you_ ever be in my dreams…”

Innes, for all his dignity and self-control, could not prevent the wave of heat from flushing across his face. The sentiment was as innocent as it could be – Lyon wishing for nicer dreams – and yet…

“Maybe… maybe tonight, when you sleep,” Innes managed. The alcohol must have got in his head too, as he didn’t often fumble with his words. He had things under control. He _did_ … usually. His mouth kept blabbering on regardless. “Maybe you’ll dream of me.”

The darkness around them was shallow, unable to hide the flustered look in Lyon’s eyes. When he spoke, the stutter was probably not only due to the wine in him. “The… the traditions say it’d be my future spouse I’d be dreaming of…”

“You said yourself that you don’t think those work,” Innes said with some difficulty, quickly bending to pick up another flower from the side of a bush– a lily-of-the-valley, it looked like. His face still burning, he didn’t look at Lyon, but he couldn’t erase the sight of Lyon’s flustered face from his mind. He shoved the flower into Lyon’s pouch, startled when Lyon took hold of his hand just as Innes was pulling it back to his side.

“I… know what I said,” Lyon murmured. Listening to him try to form coherent strings of words like this erased Innes’s own embarrassment at the situation and made his lips twitch into something close a smile. “I didn’t mean that you… that us… uh…”

“I know,” Innes said. He didn’t believe in superstitions in any case, and even thinking that such things as marriage could be predicted like that? Foolish. “I’d be honoured to appear in your dreams in any capacity. The pleasant ones, at the very least.”

That put Lyon at ease, and he leaned into Innes’ personal space again, letting his cheek brush against Innes’ shoulder as they began strolling again. Each of them kept an eye out for flowers and other plants for the midsummer tradition, their fingers loosely tangled in one other’s.

The others were a fair distance away from them now – the campsite nothing but a distant glow of flickering fires – and so the only sounds Innes heard and felt were the clacking of his teeth when he clenched his jaw and the thumping of his heart along with his and Lyon’s fumbling steps in soft forest floor.

They went on to gather the rest of the plants Lyon wanted for this experiment, though not without stumbling and some breathless giggling (from Lyon) and grumbling (from Innes). The dim light, unobtrusive and companion to the shallow darkness, surrounded them, and the world fell silent like there was no one else but them in existence.

Them, and roots of pine trees – one of which both failed to notice and so they ended up tripping over it gracelessly. It was quite a fall, as the root preceded a low, descending hill, down which Lyon and Innes rolled completely wrapped in each other. Innes held Lyon against himself, instinctively trying to protect him from the worst of the bumpy descent down the grassy ground.

Once they were no longer rolling, they found themselves breathing heavily and Innes lying on top of Lyon, his arms around Lyon’s waist. Somewhere along the ride, Lyon’s arms had clung to Innes’ neck to stay close.

Now… Innes opened his eyes to find Lyon staring back at him, face horribly close, their bodies pressed against each other.

 _Oh_ , Innes’s brain managed to conjure a thought, incoherent as it might be. _Oh._

Horribly inadequate, but he would later blame his lack of coherency on the wine – perhaps it was stronger than he had first assumed.

“Are you all right?” Innes whispered, watching in fascination as Lyon blinked, the long lashes fluttering. He could barely see it now in the darkness of the forest around them, but he still saw it. It would be hard not to, considering the lack of distance between them.

The sight of long lashes against almost translucent skin held his attention in a tight grip.

“Yes,” Lyon answered slowly, a little dizzily. His breath fanned Innes’ face, the shaky wheezes burning a flush across his cheeks. This was too much. Entirely inappropriate, too, but Innes couldn’t bring himself to detach himself from the man under him.

Lyon’s eyes refocused on him after those long lashes ceased their fluttering.

Lyon stared at him intently, and Innes nearly missed his hushed words as he stared back. “What about you?”

Lyon’s hand, detached from Innes’s neck, dove into Innes’ hair and startled him into paying attention. Innes swallowed, thickly, suddenly just as out of breath as moments ago when tumbling down the grassy hill.

When Innes spoke, the words came out embarrassingly nasally. “I’m… quite fine.”

Lyon’s fingers stroked through Innes’ hair, rubbing against his scalp. “That’s good…” Then, a soft laugh that sent an odd ache through Innes’ heart. “You have grass in your hair, Innes.”

“Not voluntarily,” Innes muttered, breath catching in his throat when Lyon’s hand travelled down to cup his horridly hot face. Lyon was much more drunk than Innes had initially realised – the faint smell of wine still lingered in Lyon’s breath.

Lyon’s other hand joined in to hold Innes’ other cheek.

“Lyon…?” Innes whispered. As much as the situation screamed danger and impropriety, he wanted to sink into the moment, sink into Lyon and his smiling mouth.

Lyon’s hands framed his face, thumbs stroking up his cheekbones, and Lyon’s eyes shone like little stars up at him in the dark grey summer night. Innes’ heart and body shuddered with feeling at the sight.

This entire day he had been given one shock to the heart after another.

It was an entirely unfair, unjustified punishment.

“Innes,” Lyon said with a similar feeling that ached in Innes. His fingers lay gently on Innes’ face still, reluctant to leave just as Innes was reluctant to let them abandon his skin.

“That is my name, yes,” Innes murmured. Because he didn’t know what else to say: the words _allow me to kiss you_ tingled on his lips, but his mouth refused to utter them even as Lyon stared up at him with all the want in the world.

Lyon’s laughter more than made up for Innes’ stiff awkwardness. Slightly drunken in its unashamed joy, but still terrifyingly pleasant to the ear. “It’s a nice name for a nice man.”

One of Lyon’s hands crawled behind Innes’ neck and into his hair, gently tugging Innes’ face closer. Their mouths, Innes noted, were close enough for an effortless kiss.

Innes’ heart was going to give in at this rate, and he didn’t have any heart disease to blame it on. Just himself and his inability to handle the idea of kissing Lyon.

His inability to handle how much he wanted to kiss him.

Innes’ arms tightened around Lyon by a fraction, and Lyon’s smile turned giddy, pleasant nervousness showing in the trembling fingers pressed into Innes’ hair.

Just a centimetre closer, and their lips would…

“Innes! Lyon!”

The shouts from not too far away startled them both, but especially Innes, who wrenched his arms free from below Lyon and pushed himself up into a sitting position faster than Lyon could protest. As if he had been burned, Innes backed off. The exaggerated speed of his actions might have been funny to onlookers if there had been any.

Lyon was much slower in getting up, and even then, no sense of urgency filled his expression – only deep confusion and perhaps disappointment. Innes couldn’t get a good read at his face from this distance, really, but none of that mattered. The dizziness in his own head had him close his eyes and inhale as deeply as he managed.

The voices calling for them approached slowly. Finally, Innes stopped trembling – as did his heart – and helped Lyon up, the previous intensity gone from between them as if it had been broken into thousands of pieces just now.

“You have what you need, yes?” Innes murmured to Lyon, glancing down at the pouch.

“Yes… this should… do it.” Lyon grasped Innes’ arm for support, a weary sigh tumbling out of him. He was warm against Innes’ side, perhaps a little too warm… “I’m tired, Innes.”

“Mhm… then it’s time for you to be escorted back to the castle,” Innes mumbled as he started leading Lyon and himself back towards the voices searching for them. The closer they got, the more recognizable the voices became: Eirika and Joshua, occasionally Lute.

“Yes,” Lyon said, barely stifling a yawn as the campfires in the distance grew into flickering but ultimately dying flames. “That’s a good idea.”

 

*

 

The carriage ride back to the castle was nothing short of unpleasant, mostly thanks to Joshua’s much too wide grin and a matching expression on Eirika’s face. Who said she was a nice, gentle soul? Clearly, she had taken to the whole _Make Innes’ Life Hell_ campaign that Lute had started.

“Could you stop making those faces?” Innes hissed quietly so Lyon wouldn’t stir by his side. “There’s nothing to stare at. _Nothing_.”

“But this is so _charming_ ,” Joshua drawled, the unnerving smile not leaving his face for a second. The gleeful tone made Innes bristle, and the previous alcohol-forced happy mood was drained out of him as if Joshua’s teasing attitude was a leech and Innes’ contentment blood. “He looks so happy sleeping on you.”

“It’s really quite sweet,” Eirika agreed, stifling a giggle with her hand. “Looks like you’re a good pillow for him, after all.”

The tone of her voice – amazed, irritatingly amused – irked Innes. Naturally, he latched onto the silliest thing she just said. “I’ll have you know, I make an _excellent_ pillow—”

“And I agree,” Eirika hurried to say, with a short laugh she didn’t bother hiding this time. “How else would Lyon sleep so peacefully?”

Though, all things considered, Lyon’s head resting against the arm his hands held onto didn’t seem all that comfortable, what with his cheek awkwardly pressed right below Innes’ shoulder. Innes couldn’t even take a look at Lyon’s face from this angle to check whether he was at peace in his dreams or not.

But as Lyon wasn’t making any sounds asides from his steady, slow breathing, Innes assumed he was. He wished that he too would fall asleep – if only to avoid Eirika and Joshua’s silly and unnecessary comments.

“He’s surprisingly clingy in his sleep,” Innes muttered as his third attempt at subtly detaching his arm from Lyon’s hold failed.

“You just gotta deal with it, lover boy,” Joshua said, and Innes didn’t have to look up to know what kind of expression stretched across Joshua’s sketchy face. Instead, he sighed and resigned himself to pillowing Lyon until the ride’s end.

Which didn’t take too long, thank heavens.

 

*

 

It had been a long, _long_ day, and the exhaustion that now burrowed itself into Innes and his bones as he carried Lyon up the stairs and towards the bed chambers. Lyon had stirred when the carriage arrived at the castle grounds, but the sleepy weariness on his face and his clumsy stumble out of the carriage had Innes convinced that it was best to escort him to his sleeping quarters in his arms instead.

It was well past midnight, but the castle hallways bustled with people finishing up their before-sleep tasks, a few sparing Innes and Lyon a wondering glance.

Innes was far more concerned with the man in his arms, dropping his gaze on that sleepy face every now and then when Lyon had stopped responding to him and fallen back asleep. Under clear light, Lyon’s face appeared soft pink, flushed and warm from the drink still. His hair was tangled and the circlet a little tilted around his head.

 _Beautiful_ , Innes thought.

He fished the key to Lyon’s chamber out of the pouch attached to Lyon’s clothes, and struggled to open the door without letting the sleeping prince down from his arms. It took a few awkward tries, the key nearly slipping from his fingers to the floor, but eventually the lock clicked and relented.

Innes entered, a tired sigh heavy on his lips. The freshly lit candles on the desk and the nightstand offered gentle light and cast dancing shadows across the room. Innes carried Lyon to the bed at the centre of the room, trying his best to hold his yawns as he set Lyon down over the sheets. The small sound that came from Lyon’s throat – a whine – pierced into Innes and dragged up the selfish, inappropriate wish of lying down beside Lyon and sleeping until the weariness would melt from his bones.

He took off Lyon’s boots with some difficulty, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor. Then Innes untied the pouch and dropped the key in before pulling out the flowers and pushing each one of them beneath Lyon’s pillows. He wasn’t sure if the tradition was supposed to work if the person in question didn’t do this on his own, but…

After that, Innes went to place the pouch away and to help Lyon into a comfortable position on the bed, even as his own legs trembled with exhaustion and his head felt like a heavy weight with all the unnecessary thoughts.

As Innes got back up and was about to leave, Lyon’s voice murmured, almost as if sleep-talking, “Don’t go…”

Convinced that he was indeed sleep-talking, Innes made his way to the door, which had fallen half-shut after Innes had carried Lyon in.

“Innes,” Lyon’s voice turned insistent. The heavy sleepiness lingered in each syllable, blurring the feeling Lyon said them with, but the words shook Innes nonetheless. It was something desperate, that much was obvious. “Don’t… don’t leave me… alone, I can’t…”

Whatever it was that Lyon’s voice held, it compelled Innes to pull the door shut and kick off his own boots before taking the few necessary steps to bed and climbing into it, propriety be damned.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice as worn out as Lyon’s, rough and hoarse from lack of sleep. “Just as you wish.”

Lyon, somewhere between vague awareness and deep sleep, curled towards him, one arm sneaking over Innes’ waist as he sighed in what sounded like relief.

Innes’ mind shut itself off almost immediately after registering that.

 

*

 

He stood in the same garden where he first talked with Innes, the colours just as vibrant and the pet birds singing as sweetly as back then. The scents of the mage-crafted flowers were easy on his nose, and the birdsong gentle on his ears. His heart was at peace for once.

Lyon walked through it, letting his eyes rest on rose bushes – yellow, red, blue flowers all around – as well as the artistically organized violets. The sights and smells had him smile and relax, which didn’t happen often when he was by himself.

But he wasn’t alone this time either.

He saw the dark green – bordering on grey, almost – back of an outfit, and instead of nervousness, an incredible, unreasonable joy burst inside Lyon. As if he had been looking for him the entire time.

“Innes,” he whispered, and the man turned around, the reaction so instant that it startled Lyon. Instinctively, he took a step back.

Only to lose his breath when his eyes settled on the smile Innes gave him – this being the genuine, content smile that seemed so rare on the man that demanded much of himself (and yet never caved under the pressure, unlike someone else). The smile made Innes’ eyes narrow yet warm as his nose scrunched ever so slightly one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t looking for it.

That steady gaze, while not as piercing as it usually was, could still see through him as if it was peeling off the layers of anxiety and worries that made up Lyon and focused on what was beneath all that.

The warmth in Innes’ eyes said he liked what they saw.

And Lyon was at a loss under such scrutiny.

But when Innes reached out his hand to him, Lyon took it without hesitation. Likewise, Innes brought it up with just as little hesitation, his lips pressing lightly over the knuckles while his steady, dark greyish eyes remained on Lyon.

If only Lyon could find the words to tell Innes that this type of affection from him would be the death of him.

Innes’ smile soft against his hand, Lyon felt himself melt, the heart in him already a puddle.

“Come with me,” Innes requested, kissing the back of his hand now.

The _yes_ that slipped past Lyon’s mouth was immediate, eager; this time, he wasn’t afraid.

“You needn’t ask,” Lyon breathed as the garden around them faded into dull colours, until nothing but him and Innes remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, I borrowed the midsummer magic tradition from my home country, Finland. The seven flowers thing and bonfire are actual things here, though the magic is regarded with tongue-in-cheek attitude. Includes nudity sometimes. Do what you will with that mental image. :)


	3. III

When his mind reluctantly stirred into awareness, he noticed both the headache and the uncomfortable heat around him at the same time, though the headache was perhaps slightly faster in making itself known. Then came the stomach-swirling nausea, and the rapid thumping of his heart. While not bad enough to warrant an emergency visit to the washroom, it still made Lyon curl against the chest he had been sleeping on—

Wait… what?

Lyon became aware of the arm around him, of the hand pressed against his back, the heat of another human radiating into Lyon’s back. And front, as Lyon was lying on someone, who was equally almost-fully dressed. Lyon’s fingers twitched against the material of the shirt beneath them, carefully curling and feeling the fabric up. Soft.

Lyon’s heart rate picked up as he opened his eyes, still bleary from dreams that he couldn’t recall, and it certainly didn’t slow down when his gaze trailed up and stopped at Innes’ sleeping face framed by messy hair. 

Blinking did nothing to change the situation; it wasn’t a hallucination, then.

Innes’ arm around him held him tight, leaving no room to wriggle away, though Lyon wasn’t planning on it in the first place despite the uncomfortable heat and the combination of nausea, headache, and uncomfortable flipping of his heart.

Lyon inhaled, and allowed his hand to trail up from Innes’ chest to his neck and then jaw and cheek. His other arm, squished between him and Innes, ached, possibly dying. For the time being, Lyon would ignore that, as well as his other pains, for the sake of observing Innes’ face, both with his eyes and hand.

 _What am I doing_ , Lyon wondered briefly as he rested his palm on the curve of Innes’ cheek and studied the sleeping face that he had inadvertently inched closer to. It gave something to focus on, at least, instead of allowing him to wallow in the hangover of misery.

It also tugged at something in the back of Lyon’s mind – a memory that he couldn’t quite reach, something that happened the previous night after Lyon had had entirely too much wine. (Any wine at all constituted as too much for him, to be honest.)

His heart fluttered, insistent on being noticed, and Lyon pulled his hand back as if he had been burnt.

He couldn’t recall anything about returning to the castle, but it was obvious that they had – Innes apparently taking it a step further and escorting him all the way into his bed and then… staying. Lyon smiled giddily, through the exhaustion and pain, at the thought as he dropped his head right back to its previous position on Innes’ chest and closed his eyes.

Innes’ heart was thumping faster than before, and Lyon’s lips curled into a smile even as his head ached to the rhythm of Innes’s heartbeats. “Innes… you don’t have to pretend to be asleep.”

At first, no reaction followed Lyon’s words. Lyon waited patiently, eyes closed and ears listening to the concerto of a fluttering heart, seconds ticking away. Lyon could fall back to sleep this way, but a heavy sigh that stumbled out of Innes pulled his attention back.

The hand pressed against his back moved up slightly but didn’t leave Lyon.

“So, you noticed,” Innes murmured, voice thick and raspy and very unlike his usual one. “You _are_ perceptive.”

“Your heartbeat changed,” Lyon whispered back. “That’s why.”

“Mmhm.”

They remained like that for a while longer: Lyon on Innes’ chest, Innes’ arm around him while Lyon’s lay over the other’s hip, and one arm from each squeezed beneath them and suffering a slow, excruciating loss of the sense of touch.  Both of their hearts beat painfully hard, though Innes would only notice his own while Lyon had the chance to study both.

Innes eventually broke the silence as his hand against Lyon’s back rubbed up and down, seemingly thoughtlessly. But Innes rarely did anything without any thought. “Did you have nice dreams?”

Lyon recalled the seven flowers tradition, a foggy memory at the edges of his mind trying to rise to the front to no avail. He sighed, frustrated that pulling any memories forward was like pulling teeth with him. “None that I recall, but… at least, I don’t think they were bad either.”

“Shame,” Innes said, sleep lingering in his voice still. “I was curious who your dreams were going to name as your future spouse.”

“It’s not like you believe in such superstition, though,” Lyon murmured. He recalled the afternoons they had spent in library, occasionally discussing their countries and their traditions further between military tactics. The memories of easy conversation relaxed him, and he sighed in content, rubbing his cheek against Innes’ shirt without much thought.

It was comfortable, and it wasn’t hot enough to make him consider pulling away.

If anything, Lyon could fall asleep again like this. Even if his stomach was acting up – just like the old wound across it, the dull pain that radiated from it now making Lyon squirm into a more comfortable position. The vague memory associated with it crossed Lyon’s mind. Ephraim…

Lyon inhaled. Outside, morning birds were singing.

“Are you all right?” Innes asked, releasing the hand pressed against Lyon’s back. Lyon felt his gaze on him, inquisitive and perhaps a little concerned. Mostly sleepy.

“A little queasy… but it’s nothing to worry about,” Lyon murmured, wincing when the arm squeezed beneath him and Innes responded with a stiff ache of its own. Why did everything ache this morning? “My arm…”

Innes helped him roll over so that he was lying on his back against the blankets, arms free and to himself again. Innes hovered over him, face neutral but something hesitant flickered in his eyes. As if he was… indecisive, which was a word Lyon wouldn’t have associated with him previously.

“I… really ought to be going,” Innes said. Lyon thought of how much he’d like to press his palms on those cheeks and hold that face, an idle fantasy that he put no effort in pushing aside. “Before anyone draws wrong conclusions.”

“…Right,” Lyon murmured, not at all looking at Innes’ mouth. Something vague tugged at the back of his mind, like an insistent feeling of déjà vu.

Was it the desperation from not wanting to think about the scarred wound on him that made him do what he did next? Or was it the sense of familiarity in having Innes look down at him as he was looking up at him in return? Was it the hangover?

Lyon wouldn’t be able to pick a reason for it himself.

“Lyon?”

Lyon stared up at that face framed by his hands. His trembling hands. Again, the familiarity of this situation struck him – as if he had done this recently.

He watched Innes’ face shift again: eyes narrowing, mouth curling down the slightest bit. The seriousness of his expression was placated by the slight, but visible, brush of pink across his cheeks.

Handsome, exceedingly so.

And so completely out of Lyon’s league, much like the twins had been.

Lyon dropped his hands, burned by his own thoughts and anxieties. Closing his eyes as nausea returned, Lyon murmured, “No… it’s nothing. You should go.”

Ephraim’s unreachable figure always stood out in his thoughts – and wasn’t Innes a lot like Ephraim, in this way?

Unreachable, as close to perfection as human man could be.

So very far from Lyon.

Innes frowned down at him, remaining as he was above Lyon, arms on both sides of Lyon’s head. Unintentionally intimate, and Lyon would flush if he wasn’t so tired of himself.

“You—” Innes started but seemed to get second thoughts and paused. Seconds rolled by in silence, a single bird chippering right outside the balcony doors. Lyon looked away from Innes, jaw clenched. Old anxieties wrung at his stomach, tying knots and worries into strong, hangover-enhanced nausea.

Innes sighed but pulled away from his personal space. With that, Lyon found himself relaxing a little, although his previous thoughts still circled around his mind.

“Very well,” Innes said quietly, though annoyed confusion shone through his voice. “Take good care of yourself. We’re still up for a study session tomorrow afternoon, after all.”

Lyon hummed something in response over the heavy thumps of his heart. When the door closed in Innes’s wake, he turned over and caught a pillow to squeeze against himself. He could finally admit it to himself, even if it hurt to do so.

He had fallen for yet another unreachable person.

 

*

 

It took a while for him to get out of bed and even longer to completely trust his legs to carry him for sure. Still, Lyon was up and about before noon, which was more than could be said about some others. The idea of food made him queasy, so he spent some time wandering around, lost in his thoughts and anxiety that didn’t get better outside his chamber like he had hoped. It wasn’t only about Innes – something else had started to press at his heart – but his thoughts focused on him anyway.

It had been better when he had been too stubborn to admit to himself that there was a deeper reason behind why he found Innes’ company welcome and refreshing. He could just enjoy Innes’s personality and companionship as it was, have a good time, and not worry about his own… idiocy of falling for these types of people.

It never ended well for him.

From there, his thoughts retuned to Ephraim.

Lyon’s mindless wandering down the castle stairs and along the courtyard found him near the gardens tucked outside the castle walls but before the road down to the town. It was a strange location for a garden, but Askrans were a strange people in general.

Summer hadn’t had a chance to grow incredibly warm yet – that wasn’t bound till next month – but Lyon found the slightly cooler than usual temperature comforting, almost reminiscent of the summers he spent growing up back home. Now, wandering through the erratically grown patches of flowers, Lyon needed that little comfort of familiarity as he resumed thinking way too hard about things that he shouldn’t allow to get the best of him. But they still did. Pseudo-death and being pulled to Zenith hadn’t erased the insecurities that had paved his personal road to hell… hell, which he now recalled more things of.

The memories didn’t come all at once, but some of them trickled in – as if knowing that this was the worst possible time to recall such things – and they left an emptiness in Lyon… or rather, they opened his eyes to what had been in him all along. The pitch-black mixture of desperation and selfishness that had fuelled him into awful actions against those he had considered dearest to him.

And… the dreams started to make more sense.

The dreams of Ephraim had been meant to be his last moments alive; Ephraim’s arms around his shoulders meant to be the last comfort in the world of the living that Lyon would be blessed with. Ephraim’s hushed words about saving him – gods, the words rang in Lyon’s ears now as he shuffled into the garden and tried not to trip in his agitation.

The other memories that came up were even less pleasant, which brought up the question: with these memories, these things he had done, did he even deserve…

Lyon didn’t finish that thought, the toe of his boot catching on a rock and making him stumble forward for several steps. He barely managed to catch himself from falling.

He made it into the centre of the garden, and immediately froze on the spot when he caught sight of familiar violet hair several degrees darker than his own and an accompanying turquoise hair that was slightly lighter than the one belonging to the person that Lyon had been thinking about just before.

They noticed him, too, from their positions at the bench, and Eirika’s expression brightened as she called his name.

Lyon, the coward that he was, wanted to run.

His legs wouldn’t; instead they led him to the seated couple, slowly and sluggishly.

Eirika only had to take one look at his face before her smile vanished, and Lyon inwardly kicked himself again. That face… he’d seen it before, in far more severe situations, though only as a backdrop to Ephraim’s sickly-looking expressions.

“Lyon,” she said, reaching for his hands when they met halfway – she had stood up and closed the distance between them with her even stride. “Lyon, what’s the matter?”

What _wasn’t_ the matter would have been easier to answer, and Lyon dropped his gaze as he found himself unable to offer even the beginnings of an explanation.

Eirika studied his face silently, or what she could see of it as Lyon kept his head down, eyes set on both their feet.

“Oh, Lyon,” Eirika murmured, and her arms came around him with the intent to shield him from his horrible, unforgiving mind. “You remembered something, didn’t you?”

After releasing him from the brief embrace, she ushered Lute away from the bench as she dragged Lyon towards it and made him sit down with her.

Once they were both seated, and Lute gone from their sight, Eirika pressed her hand over his and let it stay there. “Now… tell me what’s on your mind, Lyon.”

Lyon squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, though the pressure of worry didn’t ease off. What _was_ on his mind, other than an inconsolable mess of displaced feelings and hurtful memories that gripped at his heart and rendered him useless?

Just when things had looked a tiny bit better, this…

Lyon sighed, and the words that stumbled past his mouth were: “I’m terribly fond of Prince Innes.”

For solid two minutes, the words hung in the air, nothing else following them. Lyon’s hands curled, fingers clenching into his trousers and digging in, remaining tense as Eirika’s hand ran soothingly over his.

“I have noticed, yes,” Eirika said gently, not mocking or teasing in the slightest – though Lyon knew her better than to expect mockery to slip past her thoughtful mouth. When Lyon dared to look at her face, her smile was as patient as kind as he knew it to be. “I’m sorry to say, but you haven’t been exactly subtle about it, Lyon.”

Lyon winced, but Eirika only patted his hand in sympathy. “If it makes you feel better, he hasn’t noticed. He’s rather daft about the matters of the heart, after all.”

“Right,” Lyon muttered, “just like Ephraim.”

Eirika paused, perhaps out of the confusion Lyon’s words struck her with. “…Lyon?”

“It’s better that way,” Lyon continued, lowering his gaze as his heart pounded over the next mumbled words, “because after everything I did… I don’t even deserve to be alive right now. So why would I deserve to… to have him even look at me, when I…” _When I can’t do anything right on my own._

“Don’t say that,” Eirika interjected, and Lyon could hear the trembling fear in her voice. Her hand shook against his, and this time Lyon covered it with his, squeezing as a quiet apology. The very last thing he wished to do was make Eirika sad – especially when he could now hear Eirika’s despairing shout in his mind as the very last memory of Magvel before his body had been pulled into this world.

Ephraim’s words remained muddled in his head, but he had said something about saving Lyon. Of that, he was sure.

“Eirika… surely you know,” Lyon sighed, “that my actions led to a great deal of pain for everyone… I even chose to inflict that pain on you and Ephraim.”

His lips curled at the memory of his words to Ephraim – a confession of his love and envy for the other – and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe as Ephraim’s face, pale and wide-eyed, came to his mind with startling clarity.

“A man such as I…” Lyon trailed off, glancing at Eirika sadly. “…doesn’t deserve much. Has no right for much. Being alive felt difficult at times when I barely remembered anything… though Innes… ehm, Prince Innes… provided good distraction and assistance.”

Eirika’s face reflected pain, sadness, and an endless amount of worry that hurt Lyon. Quite literally: the headache prickled at his skull again until it became like a hammer pounding against his temples from inside his head.

But before he could make another sound, she took her turn and leaned closer, murmuring soft words only meant for him. “Your kindness was always an inspiration to me, Lyon. My brother and I… we didn’t realise the full extent of your troubles, and I think… it has been on my mind, ever since you came here.”

Her eyes peered into his, emotion filling them. “Back then… in my world, you died in my arms, Lyon… I thought so, at least. You said you… had always loved me. And then you were gone. There was nothing I could say to you anymore. And while your experiences and mine differ… I know you’re the same as the Lyon I lost.”

“You already decided earlier,” Eirika continued, her sadness turning into a soft smile, “that this time… this place, this world, would be different, didn’t you? I, too, decided… I wouldn’t let you struggle all alone.”

There was strength in her voice that Lyon didn’t remember from before – or perhaps he had been blinded, too focused on himself and Ephraim to fully see Eirika for what she truly was.

But then, this Eirika was different from the one he had grown with.

This Eirika, for one, had Gleipnir.

Guilt twisted in him, yet again.

He knew this Eirika hadn’t experienced the same reality as him – that the Lyon in her world had been completely consumed by the demon – and perhaps that was why… perhaps that was why he still hadn’t admitted the whole truth to her either.

“And, Lyon… Innes knows,” Eirika continued. “He knows what happened with you.”

For a long moment, Lyon merely stared at her in disbelief. Somewhere, birds were singing just as Lyon’s stomach lurched nauseously. The day was beautiful, contrasting the exhaustion and ill feeling that held Lyon captive. Eventually, he managed a hoarse, “What?”

“He knows,” Eirika said, brows knitted as she considered her next words. “He’s from… well, if not from _your_ Magvel, then from a similar time and place.”

“But… then why…?” Why give Lyon so much of his time over the past weeks and months? While they had started out slowly, with only the occasional conversation or two, along the weeks and changing of seasons they had spent more and more time in each other’s company, even enjoying said companionship.

Sure, Lyon had suspected that Innes had started searching him out at Eirika’s request or on her behalf, but… was he that good an actor to pretend to not be disgusted by him?

“No one can make him do anything he doesn’t want to,” Eirika said, with a knowing sparkle in her eye as she again took hold of his hand and grasped it gently. Lyon squeezed back, this time relaxing against the back of the wooden bench. Listening to Eirika speaking had always eased his soul, and in the past, he used to think that this effect was due to his romantic feelings for her. “And if he judged you as a threat, he certainly wouldn’t… keep doing what he does around you, Lyon. Who you are now matters to him more than the desperation of your past.”

“Who I am now…?” Lyon frowned. “I haven’t changed, Eirika. I’m still…”

Eirika shook her head. She would not take his refusal, he could tell, but he still itched to tell her she was wrong about him.

“You haven’t noticed it yet,” Eirika said. Her eyes, wide and expressive, appeared teary. “It’s all right. I’m sure… you’ll see it soon. You were always the observant one.”

 

*

 

The long overdue conversation with Eirika went on and on – not that Lyon noticed the passing of time much, too focused on rambling out the things and worries buried in him. It was strange, letting them come out after so much time spent keeping them in and to himself. Lyon wanted to blame his not entirely clear state of mind for it, wanted to think that he could shrug them off later as a hungover young man’s incoherent ramblings.

It didn’t solve much – not in the way Lyon had prayed it would, anyway – but it did give him more to consider, regarding both Innes and himself.

Logically thinking, Eirika was right. If Innes was aware of everything that had happened between him and Ephraim – between him and, well, the Demon King – then him granting Lyon his companionship and partnership in their current studies was a considerable miracle.

Even more miraculous was how easily Innes appeared to tolerate him.

Thinking through everything, it would be easy to assume that Innes at least saw him as a close companion, if not even a friend.

As for whether Lyon would allow himself the luxury of sharing his feelings with him, well…

Considering the last time he went honest about his feelings ( _I have always loved you, I have always hated you_ ), perhaps it would be for the best to keep this newfound adoration a secret. Perhaps letting it fester and fade was the only option.

Though, Lyon already knew how thoroughly secrets destroyed friendships, how much damage a single untold thought could do to a person.

That day, while most still were in the middle of midsummer celebrations, Lyon withdrew and took his time ruminating this in the familiar corner in the castle’s largest library, surrounded by books and their familiar dusty scent.

Thankfully, no one bothered to seek his company – Innes possibly fixing himself up from whatever level of hangover he had, and Eirika already knowing he needed time.

Alone in his own corner, Lyon thought and thought and _thought_ , driving himself into headaches and a constant state of worry, but Eirika’s words ringing in his mind gave strange comfort that he never used to have before.

_You’ll see it soon._

 

*

 

Unfortunately, he could not have a talk with Innes the following day, which was Sunday and _usually_ a day off unless Emblians were being persistent.

Unfortunately, they chose to be persistent on that day, and so the Order of Heroes was forced to deploy several teams of four out, not only to the worlds they hailed from, but also out to the border separating the warring countries to support the Askran king’s troops. The order came suddenly – based off on a letter handed to Commander Anna and the summoner, apparently.

Lyon and his team were not sent for the border – that honour fell onto one of the several cavalry teams. Kiran sent them off with a wry smile and a mutter about the enemy never expecting _the_ Reinhardt. Having met a few of _those_ over the months, Lyon shuddered, the flashes of lightning ever so clear in his mind.

 The mission Kiran and Anna had for their team was different.

“Princess Veronica has sent forces to the continent of Magvel,” Commander Anna began, and with that sentence alone, Lyon’s stomach dropped all the way to his toes and his fingers instinctively curled around the tome in his hands. “Not as many as to Elibe, it appears, but it is a cause for concern nonetheless.”

Kiran, from their position beside Anna, piped up at this point. Even if the white hood remained over their eyes, Lyon felt Kiran’s gaze brush over and then linger on him. “We thought it best to send people familiar with the general geography of the area. Likewise, Eliwood and Roy’s teams have been sent off to take care of Elibe.”

Lyon clenched his jaw and ignored the painful twist of his stomach, but he couldn’t will away the sweat that he felt forming on his forehead. While he had been sent on these types of deployments before, the target had never been Magvel, not a single time. Presumably because Kiran, the summoner, felt some semblance of sympathy for him – sympathy, which had obviously dwindled now.

Beside him, Innes did not appear disgruntled in the least, wearing his usual stoic yet intensely focused expression. The intensity of it settled Lyon’s nerves somewhat, even if it really shouldn’t: most would find his stern face and stiff posture intimidating, if not even off-putting. But right now, it brought relief to Lyon – knowing that if he had someone as mentally sturdy as Innes with him, he might just be all right in the end.

Lute appeared as aloof as Innes about the matter, her eyes looking over her nails in a way that made Lyon wonder how much she was listening and how much contemplating her newest research topic. Whether it was still the same – the magical affinities of Askran summer lizards – or not, Lyon did not know. The subjects of her research changed almost daily, depending on her mood and how her relationship with Eirika was at the given time.

Joshua, on the other hand, seemed more withdrawn as he listened to Kiran and Anna. His face remained blank but attentive, a slight frown tugging his eyebrows down. Joshua’s face changed when he caught Lyon observing him, lips pulling into a lopsided grin as he gave Lyon a playful wink.

“Based on reports from our scouts,” Anna continued squinting at the papers held in her hands, “their troops include mostly Pegasus knights and archers. Possibly a few mages.”

 _Ah,_ Lyon thought, glancing at Innes again. _That explains a lot._

“And because you two,” Kiran said, pointing their finger at Lyon and Innes, “are a great combo against those precise threats, I thought it was best to pick you for this. Even if Innes can’t take a physical hit to save a life.”

“Hey,” Innes protested. If it weren’t him, Lyon could have sworn that it was an exasperated duck-like squawk that Innes just made.  Laughter bubbled deep in Lyon’s throat, and he could only barely stifle it when Innes threw him an indignant stare.

“Sorry to say, but it is true,” Joshua joined in, amusement thick in each syllable, and a knowing smirk playing on his face. “It’s alright, man.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Kiran coughed, splaying a map on the desk that stood in the middle of the room, “the gate should be around half a day’s trip from the capital – we have scouts keeping an eye on the gate itself, but there may be Emblians guarding it when you arrive.”

Innes leaned over to study the map, Lyon and the others following suit. What followed was a short discussion on what was the best route to take, something which Innes had a considerable amount of input on. After that, each went off to pack up and fetch their weapons, agreeing to meet down in the courtyard within the hour.

 

*

 

The half-a-day travel was still taxing for Lyon, even if he ought to be used to travelling around Askr and the border by now. However, he couldn’t complain about it much: considering the recent days, the physical over-exertion eased the tension that had been curling inside him since waking up the previous day with that hangover and the few unblocked memories.

He could also thank his companions for it. He hadn’t even realised how close they had all grown until Joshua offered to carry Lyon’s bag for him to ease the strain it put on him.

“It’s no big deal,” Joshua said, giving a grin that Lyon was growing exceedingly familiar with. Warm, kind, and completely wasted on a person like him. “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours, Lyon.”

“Why not offer help to the delicate lady beside you?” Innes questioned dryly, his harsh voice sharp enough to cut. Lyon and Joshua looked at one another before bursting into laughter: Joshua’s was loud and uninhibited, almost rambunctious, while Lyon tried to stifle his much shyer and more awkward burst.

“Where do you see a delicate lady?” Joshua said, just as Lute flicked a hairband at the back of Innes’ head. Even Lyon couldn’t help but smile at the audible _ow_ that slipped past Innes’s mouth.

“I thought you were supposed to respect authority,” Innes grumbled, throwing a glare at Lute over his shoulder. The glare softened when his eyes stole a glance at Lyon, though it lasted barely a moment. “That cavalier of Ephraim’s was a liar.”

“Only if that authority respects my superiority,” Lute said airily. “Which you don’t. Sir.”

Watching Innes and Lute’s bickering somehow filled Lyon with a warmth that could only be called fondness, and that warmth reached his cheeks, pulling his mouth into an aching smile. When Innes looked at him again, Lyon saw that something close to a smile flashed on his face too.

It was a pity it was gone as soon as Lyon had caught a glimpse of it.

Ever elusive, Innes’ genuine smiles.

 

*

 

A few corpses lay around the gate by the time they got there, mostly Emblian scouts as far as Lyon could tell. He kept away from them for most part, but the scent of death that hung in the air, despite how mild it was compared to major battlefields, stung his nose. He thought he might have got used to it by now, but the memories that had come back…

Lyon felt sick.

( _Here I come, Lyon_.)

The memory of Princess Veronica hovering over him so seriously, her child-like face the only thing he could see as his body grew numb from the agony that had been taking his life, also prickled at his conscious, though he couldn’t say why. He hadn’t seen the Emblian princess since… well, since his treatment at her hands.

There was only a black canvas between that memory and the next one, which was of him blinking to awareness and seeing Kiran’s outstretched hand before him.

Lyon pushed those memories away and focused on the feeling of calming wind brushing against his skin. The breeze made the worst of the stench go away, too, Lyon’s breathing grew easier.

Joshua returned his bag to him before they went through the gate, as it contained Lyon’s tome – inconveniently heavy – which was his only means of self-defence. The tome of Fenrir also lay inside the bag, and while lighter, it was considerably weaker in magic.

Lute had carried her tome the entire time, only pressing it between her arm and her side when she made attempts at shooting a hairband in Innes’s general direction. Otherwise she had been lazily leafing through it during the travel – now, she held onto it tighter, looking more alert as they came to the gate. Lyon envied her, a little: her unruffled, unaffected attitude to battle was something he didn’t think he could pull off.

Likewise, Joshua was calm, hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his side as he glanced around in search of approaching foes. Finding none, his focus shifted to the gate, a small magical structure in the middle of a forest clearing.

Innes, who had shortened his step to fall beside Lyon, studied their surroundings sharply, Nidhogg already in his hands. After several moments of surveying the area, Innes’ eyes fell back to him. Some of the tightness around his face appeared to relax, though most of it remained.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Innes said quietly, seriously. “There is no need for that look on your face.”

The hand not holding the sacred weapon brushed against Lyon’s, the skin contact sending a tingling sensation through all of Lyon’s nerves. It couldn’t be anything more than an accident – although thinking on it, Innes had got touchier with him as time had passed. The incident in town and the bow practice flashed across Lyon’s mind, sharp memories that brought heat to Lyon’s face.

This was neither the time nor the place for it, but he wanted to take that hand brushing against his and let their fingers entwine until he wouldn’t know which ones belonged to who.

It would feel safe, like the sincere look Innes was giving him now did.

“No need to look so surprised either,” Innes continued when Lyon couldn’t formulate a response, the dim shine in his eyes compelling and captivating in its stubborn sincerity. “Stay close to me, and you’ll be fine.”

The backs of their hands bumped against each other again, and this time Lyon found it in himself to breathe more easily before offering a grateful smile to Innes.

He wished he could say _I’ll protect you too_ without the words feeling like a lie, despite all the times they had been sent to battles together already.

A bird’s frightful screech from the surrounding forest startled all of them, breaking Innes and Lyon’s eye contact and pushing them away from each other as self-consciousness hit both of them. The trance broken, they stepped into the gate leading them into Magvel, Joshua’s teasing quip and Innes’s responding huff being the last sounds Lyon registered over the anxious stutter of his heart.

The scared part him – the _big_ part of him – again wished to take Innes’ hand and hold onto it like he had done as a child with his father whenever he was brought to the court in front of nobles and the Imperial Three of those days. Maybe he could ward off what cohabitated his body that way.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to face the destruction of his homeland if—

Lyon brought his hand to join the other in pressing Naglfar tight against his chest and took in a breath as Zenith faded around him and transformed into something else.

 

*

 

The forest around them was vastly different than the one they had just come from. The shade of green leaves was lighter, and sunlight caught into them more easily. The orange light of late afternoon scattered around the four of them, illuminating the forest and the well-travelled paths before them.

Lyon’s heart unclenched the moment he realised he didn’t recognize the surroundings. The forest was too sparse to belong to Grado, the foliage too brilliantly green to be familiar, and the ground sturdy, nothing suggesting that tremors of increasing strength had ever wrecked the place.

As they set down their bags for the time being, Innes’ sharp intake of breath beside him grabbed his attention next, his eyes immediately trailing up Innes’ face.

“Frelia,” Innes said, his lips curling into something like a fond smile. Lyon couldn’t imagine it was a conscious decision. He stared at the smile, at the warm orange light descending on the curve of Innes’ mouth. He couldn’t look away from it, not when Innes’ smiling mouth spoke again. “We’re in Frelia.”

“Figures,” Joshua said as he studied the area around them as well, hand easing on the hilt of Audhulma. “Well, better than fightin’ in the deserts of Jehanna… Do you think the summoner knew where the gate was gonna take us, or is this just a coincidence?”

“It could be either way,” Innes replied, and pride filled his voice with the next words. Mixed in that pride, Lyon caught a tinge of happiness, of deep contentment he had only heard when Innes spoke of his homeland. “But if it’s a coincidence, it’s a pleasant one. This is Walles Forest.”

The name rang a bell, and Lyon blinked in surprise. “The pegasi forest?”

“You remember.” Innes sounded pleased, his gaze approving when it landed on Lyon. Brushes of sunlight danced over his narrow face, and Lyon stared, transfixed as Innes continued. “Yes, that’s right. This is also a common hunting ground – I also gained plenty of practical skill with archery here among others…”

Innes quieted down, his features sharpening as he raised his hand to sign for Joshua and Lute to quiet down and hide before pulling Lyon with him against the trunk of one of the wider trees.

“Enemy in twelve o’clock,” Innes murmured to him before gesturing the same message to Joshua and Lute that were crouching behind their own selected trees. Slowly, Innes reached for the quiver strapped on his back. “I don’t think they noticed us yet, however.”

Lyon squinted at the skies above them, recalling what Kiran and Anna had mentioned earlier. Part of the enemy forces would linger around the gate, perhaps expecting them or reinforcements, but it appeared they had slacked off in their guard duty this time around. Or perhaps…

Lyon nudged at Innes, nodding upwards as he muttered, “Pegasus knights.”

Innes raised his gaze, and what sounded like a curse passed his tight lips.

They were distant figures, high on the sky, and most likely couldn’t spot them from that altitude, but Innes urged Lyon and the others further into the forest and away from their bags and the gate, handing out orders as usual. Innes’ presence as a commander was nothing to scoff at: clear, logical orders, although sometimes impatient and gruff.

Lyon admired that about him. Compared to Ephraim’s recklessness, Innes’ calculative nature took a different but inevitably just as successful course of action. It was easy to follow him, and Lyon did so gladly, with some relief that he didn’t need to be in charge.

Maybe his faith in Innes had come somewhere between days spent reading books and quietly discussing strategies that Lyon had vaguely heard of but never truly immersed himself into. Innes would explain his point of view at length, a single off-hand comment spanning into a lecture that could have a candle burn out into nothingness. It had been an interesting discovery: Innes, most of the time, was succinct and precise with his words, rarely opting to take the long-winded answer, but during those long hours at the library… something always seemed to unwind in Innes, relaxing his tongue, which allowed him to get carried away. It was beautiful, Lyon had come to realise. 

That was neither here nor there at the moment though, and Lyon shook his head to get himself back into the moment as he moved with Joshua and Lute to a more advantageous location for their group, careful to not step on twigs or cause any other disturbance in the almost eerily quiet forest. The silence was broken by the distant sounds of the Emblian forces, a low mutter of voices and the accidental rustling of leaves being stepped on alerting the four of them.

Lyon held onto Naglfar, its spine pressed heavily against his sweaty palm, and swallowed down the fluttering nervousness that always seized him before battle.

 

*

 

The bark beneath his boots let out a cracking sound, and Innes quietly adjusted his posture again before bringing his arms up and aiming at the creatures. There were five of them, altogether, and Innes had plenty of arrows to spare. The number of the pegasi was bigger than expected, but Innes had trained for the unexpected ever since he was allowed to wield a bow.

The Pegasus knights came closer.

Innes released the nocked arrow. Wind was practically non-existent – which favoured Innes and hindered the pegasi ever so slightly. His mind remained blank in these moments as his focus was pressed entirely into hunting down the enemy from the sky.

He didn’t think what a shame it was that Emblians had to ruin the spectacular sight of pegasi trotting across the beautiful skies of Walles Forest; he certainly didn’t think what a shame it was that he’d have to shoot those magnificent creatures down.

Tana had always been the one for animals, as her bubbly and outgoing personality endeared her not only to humans but other creatures as well. Perhaps it was through her, or through the attachment for anything Frelian, that he was rather fond of pegasi, of the sight and sound of them if not their reactions to his presence.

(Tana’s pegasus had tried to kick him when he had first dared to approach it – Tana’s barely concealed laughter from back then _still_ rang in his ears.)

The arrow missed its target, and Innes made a quiet _tsk_ under his breath as he nocked another arrow. This time the shot left much quicker, the arrow flying high in an artistic arch. This time, it struck a pegasus – and from the shriek, Innes deduced he had hit either chest or at least a forearm. He could see one of the pegasi descending – or, rather, stumbling down disgracefully, the knight having little to no control as they fell with their mount.

From that altitude, survival was unlikely.

Innes drew the bowstring again, newly nocked arrow pointed to the panicked pegasi in the sky.

 

*

 

“He’ll take care of the pegasus knights, don’t worry.”

Joshua’s voice pulled Lyon’s attention away from the tree Innes had climbed up to snipe the pegasi and their knights down from the sky.

Joshua met his gaze steadily, eyes confident beneath the rim of the hat that threatened to slip down. It was meant to be comforting – and it was, to an extent, but Lyon had never been good at letting go of his worries, even when anxiety granted him nothing.

Joshua could see this as well and sighed as he leaned in to clap Lyon’s shoulder while they and Lute moved back towards the gate they had emerged from. Lyon’s gaze flickered back to the tree behind them, Joshua’s voice firm and close to his hear. “He knows the place like he knows archery.”

 _Yes,_ Lyon thought, _he does._

Naglfar – which now served as a constant reminder of Lyon’s failures and weaknesses, of desperation that had driven him further than any other motivation in his life – lay heavy in his arms. Lyon forcefully adjusted his hold over it as he followed Joshua and Lute, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sounds besides his and his companions’ steps and breaths.

The screeching sounds that broke out in the sky marked Innes’ success, and Lyon glanced upwards once more, though this time his eyes searched for the pegasi in the sky rather than Innes up on the sturdy oak.

There were four knights left now, though two had dived after the single falling pegasi. Joshua and Lute gazed at the sight too.

Joshua’s hand clasped around Lyon’s shoulder once again, and Lyon turned his eyes to him.

“You should stay,” Joshua said. “To keep the grumpy prince safe, just in case. Little missy and I are gonna get those pegasus knights.”

“He hates being looked after,” Lyon said, though what Joshua suggested was what he himself wished to do. Even if he knew the idea of him keeping someone dear to him safe was ludicrous: last time, he had destroyed his loved ones rather than heal them. 

“If it’s you—” Joshua started but halted in the middle of the sentence to contemplate, brows furrowing. “…Actually, if it’s you, he would mind even more since it’s you he wants to keep safe the most.”

Lyon’s heart leapt to his throat, its beats fast and too loud.

Joshua’s mouth quirked up, the early evening light spreading over it as he chuckled. “He’s just that stubborn… but still, he’ll forgive ya looking after him, I’m sure.”

Lute, who had been rather silent ever since their arrival in Walles Forest, chose to express her agreement with Joshua with a quiet snort under her breath. “Such a strange thing, love is… even with all my personal research on it…”

“It’s not—” Lyon felt the need to try to protest, but the continuing screeching from the sky above them stopped him.

“Yeah, we really gotta go,” Joshua murmured as he lifted his hand to his head and took off the hat. The next thing Lyon registered was the feeling of the hat being pushed on his head, Joshua’s hand pressing down on it and lingering. “Take good care of that, would you? We’ll come back when we can.”

Joshua’s gaze made Lyon’s face prickle, and a warm feeling blossom in his gut. His heart heard the words that Joshua didn’t say out loud: _you gotta stay safe and return it to me when we meet up again, all right?_

Lyon didn’t have time to contemplate on the explicit trust these two were placing on him, but later – later he would recall the feeling of something righting itself inside him, inside his heart, in this very moment.

He didn’t have time to question the sanity of people from his world trusting him – he had to accept it for now.

So he did, with a small, awkward nod of his head as he turned back towards where he had been walking away from just now. “Stay safe, you two.”

Joshua said something that Lyon didn’t catch, and then he was on his own.

 

*

 

Innes managed to fell the two other pegasus knights that had come after him after their group of five had separated. The two that had gone after their first fallen comrade were out of sight and range, so Innes began climbing down the tree. His muscles burned a bit from the effort by now, but Innes ignored it as he carefully dropped himself down, knees bent to brace him for the impact.

In the best-case scenario, the others would have had the chance to finish off the rest of the pegasus knights and find out whether the fallen knight had survived. The mount hadn’t, of that Innes had no doubt in his mind.

Straightening himself after landing, Innes pulled Nidhogg from his back into his hand again. He stopped midway when he saw Lyon with Joshua’s hat pressed into his head and a tome held tightly against his chest. Even now, Lyon looked worried and mildly scared. It was an effect that battlefields often had on him, Innes knew, his own face contorted into a scowl.

“I thought I told you to stay with them and not wait up for me,” Innes said, eyes narrowing at the hat on Lyon’s head. A nasty, twisting feeling grasped at his chest, but this was no time to dwell on it – Innes started walking briskly towards where he had seen the pegasus and its knight fall, a bow in one hand and an arrow in another. In the distance, Innes could hear the ensuing battle, though the sounds were muffled by distance.

Lyon managed to catch up to his step after a few moments, his breath a little uneven when he got to Innes’ side.

“Staying behind alone was a bad idea, after all,” he murmured, voice as soft as Innes was used to hearing it. This time, however, Innes caught an undertone of something else, something Innes wasn’t sure he had heard from Lyon before. “No one… _I_ don’t want to see you hurt, Innes.”

Innes huffed, nocking the arrow as he eyed the forest around them. Nothing recent around the gate they passed now. Innes slowed his steps. “It takes more than a few minions to take me out of the picture.”

Not to mention, the summoner’s peculiar ability… though, not many heroes wanted to experience that forceful revival either.

“Still,” Lyon said, “I feel better now. At your side.”

The words could have easily been lost under the foliage shuffling beneath their boots, but Innes had an unfortunately excellent hearing. Pursing his lips, Innes chose to ignore what had been said and focused on tracking down Joshua and Lute instead. The soft soil of Walles Forest made tracking easy, and Innes recognised the familiarly shaped boot prints over a disturbed patch of moss.

“Well,” Innes said after a moment, “I did tell you to stick close to me, after all.”

Lyon’s presence beside him wasn’t unwelcome; it hadn’t been that for a while now, and if anything, Innes felt more confident having Lyon where he could see him. The people important to him tended to opt reckless ideas when he wasn’t around, after all – Tana being the main example.

It was perhaps for the best that he had Lyon where he could properly keep an eye on him, then. And with that in mind, Innes made sure to keep checking that Lyon was still with him while he worked on tracking down their companions. The approaching sounds of battle from the eastern side of the forest made it easier.

Perhaps he was a little too focused on tracking and keeping a side eye on Lyon.

He barely caught the sound of leaves rustling nearby when Lyon had already snatched his wrist and pulled him down to the ground with him, a gust of magic blasting over where they had been mere moments ago. Innes hissed, somehow having landed face first into a patch of moss, which he spat out of his mouth when he raised his head.

“Wind magic,” Lyon murmured from his side, his fingers still clutching Innes’ wrist. Innes nodded, grimacing at the strange aftertaste in his mouth, and reached for the arrow that had fallen.

“Yes,” Innes muttered, unintended sarcasm dripping in his voice, “I noticed.”

Further interactions were cut short before they could even take place as a childish, chilly voice broke out from the direction the whirlwind of magic had come.

“Ah, you dodged. What a pity.”

Innes heard Lyon’s sharp intake of breath, and felt him squirming awkwardly, hesitating between staying still and shuffling away from the voice. Innes pushed himself up onto his knees, but Lyon stayed low, almost frozen on the spot until Innes none too gently nudged at his side with his foot.

Innes had seen Princess Veronica from a distance a few times before during the long months of his stay in Zenith.

He nocked the arrow.

“I was really sad, you know,” the princess continued. She didn’t approach them: she hovered little ways from them, close enough for her voice to be clear but not nearly close enough for her to be caught easily. “I did save your life, after all, Prince Lyon.”

The title sounded derisive coming from her, and Innes pulled the bow’s string back further in reaction.

Lyon got up beside Innes, his movements cautious and slow. Innes heard the soft intake of breath Lyon took, but no other response came from the prince Innes had come to appreciate.

This seemed to irritate the little princess, and Innes was sure the sound he heard next was of her stomping her foot to the ground. Her young voice quivered with child-like irritation, and it was annoying to listen to. This time, she dropped Lyon’s title. “Lyon! Did you already forget that!”

“Don’t engage her,” Innes murmured, and shot the arrow after a tense moment of silence. It missed her; Innes grimaced at the sound the arrow slamming into a tree trunk. Veronica didn’t screech – instead, she threw up her arm once more. Innes’ neck prickled at the sharp feeling of her magic thickening in the air, as sharp and offensive to all five senses as the girl herself.

“I know,” Lyon murmured, his voice ragged with _something_. “I know, but…”

Somewhere in the distance, a burst of lightning magic flashed, its light blinding even from afar. A scream – an unfamiliar voice – filled the air before sudden silence fell. Until the sound of swords clashing met Innes’ ears.

Lyon shifted beside him again, and this time Innes glanced at him before nocking another arrow, fingers aching from strain. Lyon’s hold around his tome appeared painfully tight, but Innes didn’t linger on it as he aimed for Veronica while inwardly counting the number of arrows left in the quiver.

An inhale later, he let the arrow go.

Veronica screeched, but it didn’t sound like the arrow just released had hit her. Innes’ mouth pulled down, annoyed, but the sudden sharp prickle of magic in the air coming from right beside him grabbed his attention.

“Lyon,” Innes said warningly, but this did not stop the soft incantation Lyon was whispering under his breath, his hands trembling as they held open the dark magic tome.

Another burst of wind magic came at them, accompanied with Veronica’s unintelligible yell, the magic whirling and hissing like a particularly nasty storm wind.

Lyon extended his hand, the movement jerky but determined, and hissed something Innes didn’t catch over the roaring wind as a thick fog of dark magic came seemingly out nowhere, thickening around the sharp wind spell and pushing the it backwards little by little.

Innes pulled back the string of his bow again, squinting his eyes. Lyon panted beside him as the sinister purple fog grew thicker until Veronica’s spell completely drowned under it.

“Just a little more,” Innes said, a bit harsher than intended but in the heat of the battle it hardly mattered. “Keep it up.”

However, just as he had finished speaking, both magics suddenly vanished, taking the thick purple and the wind away like they had never been there to begin with. Logically, there were very few plausible explanations for that.

Innes cursed, fingers tight and his arm pulling the bow string further back.

A new voice emerged in the form of amused and unnerving laughter. A figure stood between them and the princess, and from this distance, Innes would hit her for sure. He took aim, teeth sinking into his lower lip as a distinctly feminine voice spoke. “Now, now. I did wonder where our little princess had disappeared off to.”

“You—” Veronica’s hiss was harder to hear over the sounds of distant battle to the east of them, but for those who caught it, her tone was impossible to mistake for anything other than annoyance and caution. Strange, since the new figure appeared to be her ally.

“Were you planning on killing the little prince?” the woman cooed. Despite the forced sweetness of her voice, there was something sinister about her that made Innes’ skin crawl. Lyon, by his side, grimaced as well when the newcomer continued with her scolding. “We do have a need of him still, even if you did let him waltz into that summoner’s warm embrace.”

“But he—he!” Veronica sounded hysterical at the reproach. The woman facing Innes and Lyon merely laughed, her eyes settling somewhere beside Innes.

Lyon stiffened, and so Innes pushed him lower with his elbow until most of him was hidden behind Innes. The protective urge that rushed through him wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was surprisingly intense. His lips curled into a snarl, which the woman saw and laughed at.

“Getting protective, are we?” Her laughter was easily one of the most unnerving sounds Innes had ever heard in his life. But, for better or for worse, Innes wasn’t easily unnerved. “Don’t worry. I came to fetch the naughty princess, and nothing else.”

Still, her gaze remained on the prince half-shielded by Innes. Despite the sugary sweet tone, her smile and eyes were as cold as winters in Lyon’s anecdotes about his home. “Next time, though… well, hopefully it’ll come soon. Do take care of yourself until then, darling.”

She retreated in the Emblian princess’ direction, and soon the flash of an opening gate blinded Innes for several long seconds. When the black spots in his vision dimmed and disappeared, the two were gone, and Lyon’s hand was pressed against Innes’ arm, nails digging into the fabric of the uniform.

Innes looked at him after easing the string he had been holding tensely the past few moments. Even in the darkening evening light, Lyon’s sudden paleness was obvious, as was the cold sweat coating his face.

Innes pursed his lips as he stood up, urging Lyon to rise with him. When the other stumbled, legs stiff, Innes placed the arrow back into the quiver and slid his now free arm under the purple cloak and around Lyon’s narrow waist.

Joshua’s hat threatened to tip over, and Innes reluctantly pushed it back on Lyon’s head after sliding Nidhogg to his elbow. Lyon still trembled against Innes, who in return held him tighter, fingers squeezing at Lyon’s side. It startled a muffled gasp out of Lyon, and Innes’ face twisted with some concerned annoyance.

They did not have time for this.

“Let’s go,” Innes said. Without expecting a response, he started leading them off to the direction of the gate they had entered the forest from. The muscles in his arm strained as Lyon leaned heavily on him, still too shell-shocked by something to walk entirely on his own.

Innes would investigate the matter later, but for now he had to find the others.

 

*

 

It took approximately half an hour before they reunited with Joshua and Lute, who had taken good care of the rest of the Emblian troops. “Effective ambushing,” Joshua explained with a weary sigh, running fingers over tousled curls of red hair. “Ain’t nothing more startling than a strike of lightning to the face, y’know.”

While Joshua looked like a wreck, Lute appeared as though she had just gone to an evening stroll, her hair unruffled and hairbands still tightly in their places.

Lyon returned Joshua his hat. The half an hour walk with Innes – or, half an hour of Innes dragging him along – had woken him up from the stunned stupor seeing Veronica had put him in. Apparently, he still looked like a mess because Joshua inspected his face very thoroughly, an unreadable expression on his own.

Lyon busied himself with cleaning and wrapping up Joshua’s injuries just so that he wouldn’t have to look at that face, sitting Joshua down to the ground while Innes said something about going to hunt something for their dinner. He added something in a sharp tone that Lyon hadn’t quite caught. It didn’t seem to have been directed at him anyhow as Lute soon disappeared off somewhere and thus left Lyon and Joshua alone.

Lyon cleaned the long scratch along Joshua’s arm, plucking the dirt away before pushing a wet cloth over the wound. The hiss that escaped Joshua’s mouth made Lyon go slower about it until the wound was clean and he could begin wrapping it up, somewhat mechanically as he tried his best to not think about earlier.

The scars in his abdomen ached uncomfortably, almost uncomfortably as his chest.

Lute came back first with her hands full of firewood. By then, Lyon had managed to tidy Joshua up, and when Lyon tried to go help Lute with building the fire, Joshua held him back and went to do so himself.

“You look tired,” he said, and Lyon smiled thankfully at him because he _was_.

He thankfully did not have much time to mull over the recent events and the nasty memories they brought up as Innes already returned with a small deer. His steps were heavy and tired, but his face showed none of his exhaustion as he set the deer down.

“That should do,” he said and began working on the corpse. Lyon tore his eyes away from Innes then. Hunting and its aftermath never ceased making him queasy, no matter how many times he had to be witness it. Compulsory for their survival, perhaps, but Lyon didn’t like it.

He remembered the one hunting trip his father had taken him to along with some from the noble houses of Grado. Selena, the youngest of the Imperial Three, had also gone. She had watched over him, speaking gently with him on the way to the hunting grounds. The actual hunt was a fuzzy memory – probably because Lyon very decidedly didn’t want to remember the shouts and the screeches and the _blood_ – but he could recall the apologetic pat on the head his father had given him afterwards.

“You’re gentle,” his father had said, and it had undoubtedly been a compliment, but in that moment, it had struck Lyon as an expression of disappointment. “It was thoughtless of me.”

To have his father apologize to _him_ for his own weaknesses – it had made Lyon feel worse and sullen for days. He hadn’t sent any letters to the twins then, too ashamed of himself.

Lyon cut off this train of thought before his chest could ache with the familiar longing. (It never really went away – he missed his father terribly, and at this point he didn’t know if he would ever be spared from the pain of missing the dead.)

His thoughts came to a halt when Innes finished and started roasting the slabs of meat over the fire, sitting so close to him Lyon could feel his body heat even over the warmth emanating from the flickering flames. Lyon sighed and let himself sink against Innes’ shoulder and arm.

The hard feeling of Innes’ shoulder under his cheek settled Lyon’s uneasiness down and melted it away until the stabs of worry were only small pricks at most. Lyon smiled, almost content, and listened to the crackling of fire, eyes closed and Innes’ heat anchoring him to the moment.

Innes simply let him, not encouraging the contact but not shaking him off either.

Lyon heard Joshua’s chuckle from the other side of the fire and felt Innes’ bristle. Tension strained Innes’ muscles. Absently, Lyon rubbed his cheek against the firm shoulder. After a moment, Innes relaxed again, with a sigh that came out as a hiss.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Innes said after a moment, voice low and inscrutable. Even if his intention had been to sound cold, the hand that pressed gently against Lyon’s back betrayed the intent. “I didn’t hunt down that deer for it to go to waste.”

Lyon didn’t fall asleep, despite the temptation and the comforting familiarity he felt from Innes. The meat finished soon, and after cooling the slabs of it down for few moments, they began to eat while half-listening to the wildlife around them. Late birds were singing, signalling the end of the day with their songs.

Their conversations ran slow, exhaustion taking over the atmosphere now that all of them had begun to run out of the adrenaline that kept them going previously. Silence fell for a while as they focused on finishing off their meals.

After the dinner, they got ready to return to Zenith. The sun was setting, casting its last rays of molten gold and burning red over them.

Perhaps unexpectedly to Lyon, Innes didn’t wish to linger in his homeland.

“There’s no reason to,” Innes told Lyon when he asked why. His gaze pointed steadily forward, not turning to gaze around the forest even once. “It’s best if we guard the gate from the outside rather than from here.”

Lyon knew, if given the chance to visit Grado even briefly, that he would not be able to act with the same cold rationality. There was so much he’d want to check up on: the state of his people, the castle, mages he had studied and researched with… the nature, the tremors – whether they had got worse or not…

But this was not Grado, so he shouldn’t ponder upon the what-if that would not come true anytime soon. It was easier said than done, though.

Above them, a lone pegasus flew: its whinnies rang clear, startling all but Innes, who continued as though he had heard nothing. Lyon, however, glanced upwards nervously, hands clutching Naglfar, and perhaps this was why Innes spoke up. He said, just loud enough for the three of them, “That’s my sister. She’s no danger – she goes for her late evening flight around this time.”

“You sure she’s not under that weird contract that the little princess usually keeps rantin’ on about?”

“Alone, Tana’s not much of a threat, even if that were the case,” Innes said, voice flat and lacking in emotion. Lyon thought he could catch relief and exasperated fondness beneath the smoothly uttered words, though: the feeling was scattered into the soft exhales of Innes’ breath, the slight twitching of his lips. Lyon stared at that face and its tired lines, fascination and fondness warming him from the inside as Innes continued. “Princess Veronica already left this place – there’s no reason to think Tana would be here if she had been forced under that contract of hers.”

“How do you know it’s her?” Lyon asked, squinting as he looked up again. He couldn’t pinpoint anything about the pegasus knight, only that someone was indeed riding the winged animal.

“You think I don’t recognize the whinnies of my little sister’s mount?” The question was worded sharply, but Innes’ voice bordered on amusement. A flicker of it showed on his face as he glanced at Lyon. “Tana may think me an awful brother, but I do look after her.”

“Oh,” Lyon said, the back of his neck growing hot. “Of course, you would.”

When they left Walles Forest – Innes without looking back, though Lyon got the impression Innes wasn’t as unfeeling about the departure as he made himself out to be – and returned to Zenith, the night was already drawing near, stars peeking at them from the cloudy skies of Askr.

Innes took the first watch – insisted on it, really, and Lyon was thankful as he settled down to sleep in the shared tent with Joshua and Lute.

(Lute had her own, but this time she hadn’t bothered setting it up. “I’ll zap you if you try anything weird,” she said instead, index finger and thumb pressed together as if she was ready to do just that.)

Lyon fell asleep the moment he got comfortable enough.

 

*

 

When he woke up, it was to a press of someone’s hand against his shoulder, firm fingers warm through the fabric of Lyon’s undershirt.

For one moment, Lyon thought it was Ephraim that had come to wake him, perhaps to take him to town like he had said he would.

But that promise was from a long time ago, and many things had changed.

Lyon blinked, eyelids feeling as heavy as his tome, and murmured, “Innes?”

His heart pounded a painful and shallow rhythm, the remnants of his dreams spreading anxiety into his veins. There was no moonlight tonight, so he barely saw Innes’ face in the dimness of the tent, but the heat of his fingers and the warm breath Lyon felt brushing against his face were good enough.

His heart calmed down.

“You were making noises in your sleep,” Innes said, voice hushed. He didn’t withdraw from Lyon’s personal space, and Lyon didn’t want him to. “You would have woken Joshua up.”

“Oh,” Lyon said. Like a fool. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep, steadying breath as Innes’ fingers soothed at the fabric over Lyon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No need for that,” Innes said dismissively, voice still low as he settled beside him as released his hold over Lyon’s shoulder. He was still close, and Lyon curled towards him even if the warmth of another person wasn’t needed on an already warm summer’s night.

They stayed silent for a while then, breathing in tandem, and the remaining tension in Lyon melted away little by little, the dreams he barely recalled no longer forcing goosebumps over his skin.

“You said,” Innes broke the silence, words slow and contemplative, “that you often dream of Ephraim.”

Lyon inhaled. Exhaled. “Yes,” he admitted.

“And not pleasant ones,” Innes continued, matter-of-factly. His breath was still warm, still close, still distracting and calming.

“Did I tell you about it before? I don’t recall,” Lyon mumbled, now self-conscious of Innes knowing about _those_. Part of him expected Innes to make a snide comment about the subject of his dreams, though Lyon firmly believed that Innes was not a cruel person at heart. Or at any level, not intentionally.

“You were rather intoxicated when you mentioned them couple nights ago,” Innes said. He paused, as if something else had just occurred to him. “Was it one of those dreams, just now?”

“Probably,” Lyon said. But the dreams felt distant now, and his tired mind was so preoccupied with Innes and what he could see of him in the dim light that got through to the tent. Lyon’s heart was strangely light, even if he was still tired and memories heavy.  “It’s a recurring dream, after all.”

“You also said,” Innes continued, strangely _hesitant_ , and Lyon perked up at the odd sound of vulnerability in Innes’ voice that he had never been able to even imagine being there. Innes coughed, and it was gone. “You expressed that you wished that… it were me instead that you… hm. Had dreams of.”

Never had mortification been as a feeling as instantaneous as it was now – and Lyon had grown intimately familiar with it along the years.

“I did?” he asked, feeling small because while the sentiment held true, he’d rather not have anyone know that. Uselessly, Lyon wished he hadn’t drunk quite so much that night.

“Why is that?” Innes ignored him, or rather, got straight to the point. Typical, and it would have made Lyon smile if his stomach wasn’t fluttering terribly. If his face wasn’t suddenly several degrees warmer. If his hands weren’t shaking where they curled around his stomach.

“Not that you’re wrong in thinking that,” Innes said when the silence went on a bit too long. “Dreaming of that oaf is terrible in general, no matter the nature of those drams.”

Lyon couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. His nerves settled a little. “Have you experienced it for yourself?”

“No,” Innes said, far too quickly to be convincing. Lyon had to bite his lip to not burst into a laughter that would wake the still sleeping Joshua. Innes continued in a quiet but gruff mutter, “I’m _not_ lying, stop laughing.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Lyon, laughing.

“Sure,” Innes said, scepticism thick in his voice. “Will you answer my question now?”

Lyon’s laughter ceased as if it had never existed, pulling a weary sigh from him as he considered his words as well as he could with his sleepy brain. Perhaps it was for the best that he couldn’t make out Innes’ face entirely; he wouldn’t have to see the face Innes made to what he was about to confess.

“Ephraim and I have a heavy history,” he said slowly, knitting his eyebrows together and hugging himself a bit tighter. “As many good memories as I have of him, I have equally many that make me… uneasy, especially now that I…”

“You remember,” Innes said, filling in what Lyon couldn’t say, “what happened before you came here.”

It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t pity that Innes showed him.

Lyon exhaled, “Yes.”

A beat of silence passed before Lyon found his voice again. It came out weakly, with shame latching onto the words. “I only remembered recently, but the dreams… they were… they were suppressed memories. And the same ones kept repeating again and again. Either of Ephraim saying something… or of Princess Veronica when she picked me up when I… arrived here.”

The scars in his abdomen ached dully, and Lyon clutched at the fabric covering them. Through the shirt, he could still feel the hard, rough ridges of the deepest scar where Siegmund had pierced him.

“What did she do?” Innes asked, obviously picking up on that something must have happened from Lyon’s tone. Or perhaps he remembered how he had behaved before when Veronica had appeared before them.

“I don’t remember much,” Lyon said. Sometimes things came to him, like the giddy smiles on Veronica’s young face that had looked sinister to him. “I kept slipping out of consciousness… but it was painful, the way she tried to treat my wounds.”

“My unbothered, undamaged memories… they begin here, in Askr,” Lyon said, deciding to not dwell on Princess Veronica’s unorthodox methods at taking care of him. His dreams dwelt on it more than enough. A smile rose to his lips as his thoughts took to the memories he had made in Askr. The good and the embarrassing – the stressful and the awkward. Some included Innes, some didn’t. “My memories with you… they’re not tainted with my sense of incompetence and envy. I’m not quite sure why.”

“Lyon,” Innes said, reproachful but not harsh.

“It’s why I wish I could have dreams about you,” Lyon continued. Now that he was speaking his mind, it was hard to hold his tongue. This, he realised, was the part about him that had changed: he was now able to put these things into honest words without having to have the end of everything looming over him. “I like you. I admire you. Your dedication to your cause inspires me.”

Lyon bit his lip, heart thundering in his chest as he neared the borderline of a love confession. It had been easy to declare his love at Ephraim back _then_ , but his mind had been clouded and murky. It still was, but not nearly as much.

Confessing was hard, but much easier than before. His tongue had formed the words as clumsily as he had sparred with Ephraim back in the day, and now his heart trembled as he waited for anything from Innes he could take as a rejection. 

Innes’ hand settled over his cheek. It wasn’t a soft touch – Innes wasn’t _soft_ unless caught off guard – but Lyon adored the feeling of archery-hardened fingers pressed over his skin.

“I like you,” Lyon said, even more quietly.

Liking Ephraim this way had been terrible and exhilarating in equal measure – bringing both agony and joy– and it had been the same with Eirika.

He didn’t know why liking Innes didn’t hurt like liking those two had.

Because it was supposed to be painful, right? Romance was supposed to tear your heart apart and then repair it. Insecurities and lack of self-worth had always been there for Lyon in the throes of his crushes.

And while he was still insecure… why was it that it no longer rendered him useless?

Maybe it was the exhaustion he felt right now. Maybe it was that having seen Innes surrounded by the beauty of his homeland had undone something in him. Maybe it was everything that had happened in the past few days – starting from the feeling of Innes holding his arms as he helped Lyon to adjust his hold on the bow and the arrow – or perhaps it was Eirika’s easy comment about Lyon’s feelings for Innes.

Maybe he was tired of dancing around these feelings because he had done enough of that in his life already.

These feelings wouldn’t go away by sweeping them under the rug, he knew. There was no harm in giving them voice – even if rejection would surely sting if it were to happen.

Innes’ sigh shoved Lyon’s inward marvels away and pulled his focus back to the present. He wasn’t quite sure, but it sounded like Innes was _smiling_. Lyon wished he could see it clearly, even if he had seen a smile on that face before and could recall how it looked even now.

“I quite like you, too,” Innes said, and it didn’t sound like he had to fight much to let out such an admission. Then, as if such statement was too much alone, Innes added, “Your taste in people like Ephraim can be forgiven.”

Once more, Lyon found himself snorting and trying not to laugh. It was increasingly difficult to hold it in.

“My taste in people includes you,” Lyon said, a surge of bravery in his veins. “It can’t be that bad.”

Innes didn’t say anything for a while, but his breathing changed, puffs of air tapdancing over Lyon’s face.

It tickled so terribly, but this was no time for giggles.

Well, that was what Lyon thought, but Innes started laughing quietly himself just then. It didn’t last long, but the sound had Lyon transfixed – Innes’ smiles were already a rare treat, but laughter?

“I like the sound of that,” Innes murmured when he caught himself, the low laugh dying as he exhaled. Lyon regretted the loss of that warm sound. Innes inhaled then, a sudden sobering intake of breath. Something like embarrassment tinged his tone next, making Lyon feel achingly fond. “I hope you do realize that I am not, in fact, Ephraim.”

Or perhaps it was wariness instead of embarrassment. Lyon couldn’t tell for sure. Either way, the question, which was as tentative as Innes was ever going to get, made Lyon purse his lips as he considered his words.

“There is nothing about you that I could mistake for Ephraim,” Lyon settled for. He could remember thinking that sometimes watching Innes made him feel the same as watching Ephraim had, but that impression was wrong.  Now, having Innes’ breath touch his face like this, he didn’t yearn to touch Ephraim – that was the furthest thing from his mind right now.

Lyon eased his hold over himself, uncurling the arm draped around his side, and after shifting awkwardly for some seconds, he reached out to press his palm to Innes’ cheek. Innes’ face tensed under his touch, startled, before relaxing. Lyon thought he might be smiling again.

“I want you for _you_ ,” Lyon whispered, and the words were easy and true as they came to him. Again, he thought of Innes bathed in the light of the Frelian sunlight, of the obvious comfort Innes felt surrounded by familiarity.

Lyon’s thumb found Innes’ mouth, which was indeed curled in a smile, and brushed over the lips shakily but without hesitation.

Innes’ lips parted under the finger, a shallow exhale caressing the pad of the thumb.

Lyon inched closer as Innes’ arm reached for his waist to pull him near. No resistance, no hurry, just comfortable ease – though Lyon could feel Innes shifting about, as if something bothered him.

Lyon wanted to kiss him, but… “Innes?”

“Hm,” Innes merely hummed. Again, the vague sense that Innes might be embarrassed returned, and Lyon smiled as he caressed Innes’ face. “I must admit that I’m not sure what the proper thing to do now is.”

 _Kissing me, probably_ , Lyon thought with a good amount of light-hearted amusement.

“Kissing me, perhaps,” Lyon said and surprised himself by leaning in to press his lips against Innes’. In the dark, it took an embarrassing amount of searching to find them even though Innes’ face was right before his and his thumb pressed on the corner of Innes’ mouth.

His nose bumped against Innes’ the first time –next Innes’ nose almost struck Lyon in the eye – and it all would have been so funny if Lyon wasn’t actively trying to get a kiss.

Innes huffed, sounding rather annoyed himself, and cupped the back of Lyon’s head. Without pause, he pulled Lyon in against his mouth, and now it was lips that bumped awkwardly against each other as their hands held each other’s faces. Innes’ other hand still lay warm over the small of Lyon’s back, now rubbing circles over it.

Lyon melted, even if it was a clumsy lip-meets-lip rather than heart-stoppingly tender, and closed his eyes for the few seconds that the kiss lasted.

Innes’ breath stuttered against Lyon’s face when it was over, Innes swallowing thickly as Lyon took a trembling breath himself. The silence between them was only broken by the steady snorting snore from Joshua.

“That,” Innes said slowly, and the dissatisfaction in his voice made Lyon’s heart halt nervously, “wasn’t my best performance.”

The comment was unexpected, yet _so_ Innes, that Lyon started giggling almost hysterically, his shoulders shaking from the force of it as he buried his face into Innes’ shoulder in a meek attempt at not disturbing the only sleeping person in the tent.

“I’m quite serious, you know,” Innes said, breathlessly indignant, and it just made Lyon giggle harder against the curve of Innes’ neck. Quietly, Innes demanded, “Let me kiss you again.”

And Lyon let him – let Innes bring his face away from the shoulder it had been buried in, let him press his clammy palm on his cheek, let him _kiss_ him.

Innes kissed him firmly, without hesitation, without disgust, and this time – this time Lyon’s heart soared to a flight, a giddy happiness he didn’t have a right to blooming and bursting somewhere in him and flooding into every nerve of his body.

He really shouldn’t be able to feel like this – not after everything, not when he should feel nothing but guilt and remorse – but… the feeling of being alive, of having his thoughts clear and at least mostly his own… of caring for someone like _this_ again… without anything dark like envy ruining the purity of it…

Lyon rather liked it right now. Being alive.

Being kissed, too. Innes was a clumsier kisser than he was an archer, but Lyon knew he himself was just as bad as he bumped his nose against Innes’ again. It didn’t deter Innes, whose mouth insistently pressed against Lyon’s, dry lips moving confidently and selfishly taking and tasting more.

Lyon imagined that drowning had never been more comfortable than it was right now.

(And he would be right – after too much time drowning in his insecurities and anxiety, he could say that he would much rather go down like this: held and kissed by Innes, who seemed intent on proving something to him.)

Their kiss ended with an audible smacking noise as their lips parted, Lyon’s face hot and his heart even hotter as Innes’ breath hitched.

Joshua’s snoring halted.

“Do you think—” Lyon started, hoarsely before licking at his lips and swallowing. “Did he wake—”

Innes pressed a finger over his mouth. “No,” he said slowly. “Listen.”

For a solid five minutes, Lyon did listen and heard nothing. After the five-minute mark, Joshua’s soft snoring finally turned up volume and became audible again, and Lyon sighed in badly concealed relief.

This time, Lyon closed the distance without taking a detour on his way to Innes’ lips. Progress.

Thank _goodness_ Joshua wasn’t awake.


	4. IV.

Joshua had, in fact, been awake.

This was a fact that Innes became unfortunately aware of after being awake for five minutes after his short night’s sleep of four hours.

One glance at Joshua’s terrible, _knowing_ look as he was preparing breakfast for them over the fire in the morning and Innes _knew_ that he knew.

“Do _not_ say _anything_ ,” Innes said as he saw Joshua’s lips curling in that smug smile he knew entirely too well from Joshua’s constant badgering of him.

“Aw, I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Joshua drawled, entirely too much at ease with Innes glowering at him, “ _lover boy.”_

As the morning birds chirped over them, the sky the palest of blues, Innes contemplated whether it was possible for him to forcibly send Joshua back to Magvel and thus be rid of him without the summoner noticing. It wouldn’t be a terrible loss to their army, given how many people Kiran had gathered under the Askran banner.

Unfortunately, the summoner was terribly paranoid over the loss of anyone – Innes had heard Kiran muttering something about “accidentally sending [redacted name] home” more than once and the sheer terror in Kiran’s voice had made Innes scoff. Did they _really_ need to worry that much with him around? Not really, in his opinion.

“Easy there,” Joshua held up his hands. “No regicide allowed, remember?”

“You’re hardly a king yet,” Innes said, watching on as Joshua returned to checking the fish over the fire. Lute snorted little ways from them at their conversation, looking rather ragged from her long watch from last night. “It’d be an unfortunate accident.”

Joshua didn’t look up at him as he crouched before the fire while Innes rolled his shoulders and stretched the exhaustion away as well as possible. Lyon hadn’t woken up yet, and Innes hadn’t had the heart to kick him awake – which was strange enough, since he wasn’t lenient on these things, especially during assignments from the summoner. Usually he’d kick everyone awake if he had to.

But the memory of Lyon’s tired voice, of how he had curled up towards Innes right before falling asleep… it hadn’t allowed Innes to disturb Lyon just yet when he had left his side.

Innes wondered if he was finally having better dreams.

“Being killed just ‘cause you can’t take a little teasin’? Sounds about right,” Joshua snorted and disrupted Innes’ thoughts. “You two did wake me up, y’know. I think I’m owed a little something for that, at least.”

“You pretended to snore instead of letting us know you were up,” Innes pointed out, voice dagger-sharp. Despite his irritation, he settled down beside Joshua to inspect the fish skewered over the burning wood. “If anything, you’re owed an arrow in the face.”

Joshua sighed, leaning back and tilting his head up to peer at the sky. “You guys were havin’ a tender moment from what I could tell. I’m not heartless enough to keep you two from that. Now, if ya had started pulling clothes off each other… that’d be a different story.”

Innes choked. On his tongue. It was quite an achievement. Then, hissing, Innes said, “I’m not _that_ kind of man, you fool.”

“You never know,” Joshua said, grinning, eyes still pointed up, “he’s pretty attractive, after all.”

“You’re insinuating I’d do such a thing before marriage, like some kind of—”

Joshua, again, spread his hands apologetically, though nothing could take away his amusement at Innes. “Thinkin’ that far ahead, are ya? Slow down a little, man.”

Innes, again, contemplated how serious a crime regicide could be when the murdered monarch was an absolute buffoon. _Not serious enough to warrant a severe punishment_ , Innes mused darkly, narrowing his eyes at the much too relaxed look on Joshua’s face.

“Perhaps you ought to consider _your_ future more,” he settled for saying, huffing and sliding an insistent strand of hair behind his ear as he glared at the fish. The smell of them, the promise of food, eased his irritation, but hell if he’d let Joshua off for the unnecessary and idiotic teasing.

“Maybe,” Joshua said lightly, as if Innes hadn’t poked at a sore spot. But his playful demeanour soon sobered, and the look on his face as he regarded the fish turned contemplative. “Hey… you’re not doin’ all this just to keep an eye on him, right?”

Because Innes wasn’t _an idiot_ , he didn’t need to ask what Joshua meant. He knew well enough, as he had thought about it over the weeks he had spent with Lyon. An indignant frown emerged on Innes’ face. “Again, I’m not the type of person that would do such.”

“Heh. Kinda figured you weren’t,” Joshua said, smiling easily again, though less teasingly and more in relief as he ran fingers through messy spikes of vermillion hair. “Guess this kinda talk would be more of Prince Ephraim or Princess Eirika’s to give, but… don’t go hurting him, alright?”

That was the first time Joshua had ever managed to stun him into silence – even back home, Joshua’s gambling and its secrets hadn’t rendered Innes quite speechless, but this… this did.

If only for about five seconds.

“What a strange thing to say,” Innes muttered. “I do not go around breaking hearts for pastime.”

“Really,” Joshua snorted. “I think the most recurring complaint I heard going around back in our worlds was Prince Innes’ general attitude and awful bedside manner.”

Before Innes could refute that statement, Joshua sighed again, scratching at the back his neck awkwardly. “And, y’know… he’s still probably… he feels plenty guilty about what happened before, from what I’ve seen. He’s not a tough guy like you or Ephraim. Doesn’t think much of himself.”

Innes shut his mouth, jaw tense and clenched as he recalled Lyon drunkenly lamenting his dreams briefly couple nights before. And the way Lyon had pushed him away the following morning when they had woken up sharing the bed in Lyon’s chamber.

Innes had been annoyed back then, but thinking back on it, perhaps it was that guilt that had Lyon try to push him away – at least partially.

Lyon said he did remember, last night before they got caught up in kissing and pillow talk. Innes did not flush at the memory of the kisses exchanged in the dark, at the memory of how Lyon’s smile tasted on his mouth, but some semblance of _warm and fuzzy_ feelings bubbled up in his chest regardless.

“He’s not a weakling either,” Innes said. “I intend to treat him right, however. As the person that…” As the person that looked at him and saw _only_ him – as himself, not as a prickly shadow of Ephraim – Lyon had the right to his heart.

Gods, what an embarrassing thought. Best not to express it out loud.

“…as my partner,” Innes settled for, “he won’t suffer any undue injustice from me.”

Joshua peered at him, incredulity written all over his face until he started sniggering into his hand, body trembling from the sheer force of it. “You make romance sound so _dull_ , Innes.”

Unfortunately, before Innes could truly commit the murder, Lute returned from her morning wash at the river within a short walking distance from them, flicking her hand towards the fire and stating airily, “I suppose my next research will be on how certain men manage to fail in the act of cooking fish for breakfast.”

“It’ll be quite interesting,” Lute continued flatly, watching Joshua leap into action to save the burning fish from the flames. “I pray I’m given the chance to observe more closely at some point.”

Innes, for the time being, was left to simmer, much like the fish had been.

 

*

 

“Tastes… good,” Lyon said delicately as they all gathered around to eat the fish. Or the little that was left of them to eat. Innes saw the wrinkle of his nose that indicated a feeling contradictory to his words.

Innes snorted. “Tastes like someone took the fish to a coal mine and rubbed them around.”

“Innes,” Lyon said, wheezing, almost choking on a bite of fish, “that’s _awful_.”  If Lyon had meant it to sound scolding, he failed completely: instead the laugh, uneven and not elegant at all, sounded unmistakably amused, bringing such life to Lyon’s face that Innes couldn’t bring himself to look away from the sight.

“Awful, but accurate,” Innes said. “You needn’t spare Joshua’s feelings.” Throwing an unimpressed stare in Joshua’s direction, he continued, “In fact, trampling on them is even highly recommended.”

“Somebody’s a bit moody today,” Joshua drawled, swallowing and making a face as if someone had made him swallow an entire lemon in one go. Despite that, his voice remained jovial and light, much to Innes’ disappointment. “Guess you didn’t get a good morning kiss, huh?”

Lyon choked, this time not on the fish but _air_ , and his face flushed impressively fast. On that pale face, the slightest dust of pink was noticeable, and Innes found himself studying the colour with interest.

“You said he was asleep,” Lyon said, brows high and eyes accusing – but that expression on Lyon was as convincing as Tana had been subtle about her adoration of Ephraim in her youth. Unlike Tana and her irritable childhood obsession, though, this was endearing. Kind of.

“I _thought_ he was asleep,” Innes corrected, lips curling as he frowned at Joshua over the dying fire. Lute observed the unfolding scene with a smile askew on her lips, perhaps memorizing it so she could relay the events to Eirika later. Innes sighed. “I didn’t account for Joshua’s voyeuristic habits.”

“Hey,” Joshua said, voice muffled as he ate. “No need to get so antagonistic. _You_ got kisses, I just got an earful of them.”

The back-and-forth banter went on for however long it was that took them to manage to eat the half-way charred fish. It was mostly between Innes and Joshua while Lute made the occasional offhanded comment while Lyon sighed and looked faintly embarrassed even as he smiled and subtly leaned against Innes.

In these passing moments, Innes felt surprisingly at ease. This odd sense of camaraderie with these people he had known before had only truly formed in this world, and he could reluctantly admit that he liked it. Lute and Joshua could be as irritating as any people, for such was the human nature, but he had something soothing by his side now.

It was somewhat ironic that it should be the person Magvel had thought lost that gave Innes the tranquillity he hadn’t been familiar with in his entire life.

It should concern him, perhaps. It should have started to concern him a long time ago, but nothing had alarmed him to the chance that he might be developing, hm, _feelings_ for someone he had promised Eirika to watch over for her sake. (And someone he had kept an eye out for even without that request: for the chance of Lyon losing himself.)

Now, as Innes draped an arm around Lyon’s waist to steady him in the middle of his burst of laughter at whatever Joshua had said, it was a little too late to ponder over the consequences of spilled milk.

 

*

 

Upon their return to Askr that afternoon, they were ushered into another meeting with the summoner, the commander, and the royal siblings. The four of them had apparently sat through many of them already, as there were empty pots of tea on the table.

Prince Alfonse appeared especially tired, but the young man kept an admirably stiff upper lip about it.

They went through the details of their mission briefly: the number of the enemy forces had been similar size with the scouts’ estimations, though a few surprises had been present. The enemy’s exact motivations remained somewhat unclear, even if they had their assumptions.

The most important bit of news, however, was…

“So, Princess Veronica went there,” Alfonse paraphrased the information given to them. His nose pinched, as it often did when it came to the topic of Embla and the country’s destructive princess. “I wonder what she was trying to accomplish.”

“Princess Veronica is the one forging the contracts,” Lyon piped up softly from Innes’ side. His fingers fiddled with a long curl of hair, and Innes saw the mild reluctance set in Lyon’s shoulders as he continued. The exhaustion showed on him, heavy like the cloak draped around Lyon’s shoulders, but he carried on nevertheless, with clear and concise words. “It’d make sense for her to go if she was trying to gain Frelians for her army, right?”

Innes recalled his sister flying through the night sky on her pegasus. Perhaps it had been her that Veronica had wanted.

The thought of it brought another frown to his face. Tana would be naïve enough to make the contract, even if the war had helped her grow up.

“Yes,” commander Anna agreed easily, downing the rest of the pitch-black liquid from her cup. Innes, unwittingly, grimaced at the sight. Was that even tea at this point? “Good thing you managed to stop her attempt this time… but anyway. You said there was someone else accompanying her? That didn’t seem like the usual recruit or ‘push to the wolves if situation calls for it’ sacrifice?”

Lyon glanced at Innes, who took the hint and nodded on his behalf. “Yes. An older woman with a nauseatingly forced sweet demeanour.” Innes closed his eyes as he recalled more details. “It was hard to tell, with the setting sun and her headpiece, but it appeared as though she had purple hair. A considerably sized bust—”

A collective choking sound burst out of the everyone else in the room, and Innes sighed before deadpanning, “I know it’s a crude way of putting it, but it _is_ the truth.”

“Catch anything else, with your amazing skills of observation?” Kiran seemed least affected but Innes’ comment, though also more eager to tease Innes for being observant. For whatever reason – at least he bothered to do the job, which couldn’t be said for all of them. 

Innes ignored the sarcasm in their voice and went on, “Her outfit didn’t appear Emblian, though I did not catch much more than an impression of that. A staff user, though she appeared to have an easy time dispelling wind and dark magic.”

The discussion about the new enemy stretched on, with the Askrans pondering over whether this was a new ally of Veronica’s or someone even more dangerous and Innes throwing his impressions and thoughts in every now and then. (Which meant every other sentence spoken; he had _many_ thoughts on the matter.) Joshua and Lute hadn’t met her, so they only had their impressions from Innes’ tale to go by, but they too partook in the discussion with sparse comments of their own.

Lyon stayed mostly silent, though Innes could tell it wasn’t because of shyness or some other issue. His pinched brows, the downcast eyes, fingers fiddling with his sleeve – Lyon was considering something, with some anxiety attached to whatever he was thinking. Innes had seen milder versions of that look on Lyon during the long hours spent at the library, during the hushed conversations of strategy, archery, and dark magic.

In the end, Lyon didn’t bring up whatever it was he was thinking so hard about, and Innes didn’t force the others’ attention on him. He’d find out whatever it was later, for sure.

(Lyon holding onto his hand under the desk, squeezing it tightly, didn’t have anything to do with his decision.

Why would it?)

 

*

 

“Didn’t what she said back then feel like she was specifically speaking to me?” Lyon asked him when they were alone again, this time in Lyon’s chamber. Lyon had lain down on the blanket-covered mattress, limbs spread over it haphazardly and eyes closed.

It was early evening – they had departed early and made it back to the castle almost in record time if Innes did say so himself – but the trek had obviously sapped most of Lyon’s energy.

 “Not her words, necessarily,” Innes said, gazing out of the balcony doors. There was nothing special to stare at that wasn’t like the view from Innes’ shared room but focusing on something else kept him distracted from the urge to lie down with Lyon. “But she did give you a strange look.”

Innes remembered the surge of protectiveness that had struck him in the instant that the woman’s eyes had settled on Lyon – and the way she had gleefully called him out for that, too.

“Princess Veronica knew about the Demon King,” Lyon said slowly, his voice barely audible, and Innes turned to look at his splayed form over the bed. “Perhaps she knows about it, too.”

“But the Demon King is dead,” Innes said, clenching his jaw when the untruth slipped out of him. He knew it wasn’t true, the evidence was right there, but…

“Most of him is,” Lyon agreed, pulling himself up enough to meet Innes’ gaze. Lyon’s was sad, resigned, and the joy and embarrassment for the morning seemed terribly far away from that face now. “But I’m still alive.”

Innes frowned at the implication in those words, though he couldn’t deny that at first, he himself hadn’t looked at Lyon with anything but suspicion back when all this had started, before Innes had inadvertently been drawn in by Lyon. Before Innes had developed… unnecessary feelings.

He wondered now, as he inspected Lyon, if he could be as unbiased about him as he had promised himself he would be – Eirika and Ephraim couldn’t, he knew, but someone had to be.

And yet…

“Are you not grateful for that?” he asked, and perhaps his tone came out all wrong as Lyon flinched and let himself fall back into the comfort of the bed. Innes grimaced at himself, lips pursed as he contemplated his words. Slower, Innes continued, “I rather appreciate this odd chance of getting to know you.”

Lyon didn’t push himself up this time, but Innes heard the soft intake of breath before Lyon answered.

“I’m grateful to be alive,” Lyon began, voice fragile, and it reminded Innes of a younger Tana when she had sneaked into his bedroom whenever she had nightmares. Though Lyon shed no tears, unlike Tana. “But I wonder if it’s all right. Even if it’s only a tiny part, Fomortiis is still alive in me.”

Innes tensed. These talks required the type of emotional intuition that he didn’t have – not for interpersonal relationships, as he had little patience for those in general, especially for ones that didn’t follow the rules and boundaries set by him.

“Not alive enough to force your hand or thoughts this time,” Innes said as he dropped his arms down from his chest. An odd restlessness twitched in him. Innes licked at his dry lips, but it didn’t help much. He still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lyon’s splayed form over the bed. “You’re your own man now, Lyon.”

For a few minutes, Lyon didn’t respond, apparently letting the words sink in, but then he lifted his head sluggishly and gave Innes a look. The plead was obvious even without the weary words that followed. “Could you come over here?”

Innes acquiesced by walking across the room and sitting on the edge of the bed wordlessly, eyes trained on Lyon and his ruffled appearance. Wrinkled robe, tired eyes, and tousled hair that still framed Lyon’s narrow face flatteringly if not a little wildly.

Lyon patted at the empty space on the mattress right beside him, and Innes pursed his lips as he considered the propriety of the situation.

“Innes,” Lyon said, eyes steadily meeting Innes’, “please.”

It had come so easily last night when Innes had been sure Lyon had been having nightmares, but now… Innes’ jaw clenched. Why was it hard _now_?

“Give me a moment,” Innes said and caught sight of a soft smile emerging on Lyon’s face much like the sun emerged from east every morning.

He climbed into the bed nevertheless after unlacing and taking off his boots, though his heart and stomach both felt unnaturally tight as Lyon curled towards him. Like a sunflower reaching for sunlight, he thought, recalling the vast gardens back at his home.

Draping an arm over Lyon, Innes withheld a sigh of contentment, but he couldn’t quite contain his heart. It raced, still unused to this kind of proximity between him and another person. Lyon, on the other hand, seemed to hold no inhibitions, cuddling close to him with an apology in his eyes.

Apology for what, Innes couldn’t say with complete confidence. He had a good guess, however. Lyon confirmed it when he buried his face into Innes’ chest and started speaking in muffled tones, the fragility still present as Innes’ fingers dug into the lavender hair and its knots.

“Innes,” Lyon mumbled, “why do you trust me so?”

He hadn’t, in the beginning. But that was a long time ago now. Innes thought of what Ephraim had once told him of Lyon, on that night they shared the watch. All that praise for a person that had turned out like _that_ – Innes hadn’t understood it and he understood Ephraim’s agony over it even less.

Now, though… Innes might understand Ephraim from back then a little bit – though he wouldn’t go as far as to call the feeling in his chest _sympathy_.

“You have proven yourself worthy of it,” Innes said confidently and pressed his hand on the back of Lyon’s head, gently running it down the lavender hair. These acts of intimacy were difficult, perhaps unsurprisingly challenging to him. A very different battle from the ones where he could wield a bow and get out without scratches.

Here, it was his pride on the line.

Being vulnerable had never been Innes’ strong suit – and he had been glad for that, though now it rendered his gestures of affection lacking and frustratingly half-hearted.

He hadn’t planned on this infatuation. And now he was paying for it with his pride.

Still, he let his hand linger in Lyon’s hair, fingers now combing and untying the knots of the tousled mess.

“I have had time to evaluate you,” Innes continued, both to elaborate his answer to Lyon’s question and to distract himself from the awkwardness of what he was doing. Lyon’s hands held onto him tight, much like the man himself held Innes’ affections – with a vice grip that Innes didn’t know how to undo. Didn’t know if he wanted to, either; as much as this hadn’t been in his plans for his life, he rather enjoyed it.

“And I have seen enough to have made a sound judgment of you,” Innes murmured, an embarrassing flush rising to his face when Lyon suddenly looked up, eyes dim but curious. Innes couldn’t look away from their intense purple colour. “You’re a good man, Lyon. I know so – and I’m rarely wrong in my judgment of people.”

“But you know what—”

“I know,” Innes said, staring into those eyes. He was confident in what he was saying, if not his current actions. He pulled Lyon closer, and let his forehead fall on Lyon’s, his eyes maintaining the contact with Lyon’s. The violet irises shone like unpolished gems. “But it doesn’t matter. I know who you are _now_ , and I judge you accordingly.”

“Innes…” Lyon’s hands clenched around the fabric of Innes’ robe.

“As for the matter of what that woman,” Innes continued sternly, brows furrowing and a solemn tone seeping into his voice, “I will not allow her to lay a hand on you. Or anyone else.”

He ducked his head low, low enough for their mouth to meet in a fleeting kiss as Innes’ hand slid to a pale cheek from the back of Lyon’s head. Lyon’s mouth trembled, just enough to be noticeable, but Lyon wouldn’t allow him to pull away to inquire the reason behind that – Lyon’s hands tugged him back into the kiss by the collar, bolder than Innes had ever expected. More than a brush of lips, the kiss stole Innes’ good sense away from himself, and he pulled Lyon closer as he pressed into the kiss more intensely.

Lyon’s arms moved up, around Innes’ neck and shoulders, and pulled until Innes lay fully on top of Lyon’s body, their chests pressed together and legs tangled. Innes grunted, the noise muffled by Lyon’s smiling lips, but didn’t stop exploring that mouth just yet, his curiosity for the taste of them too much to ignore even if Innes prided himself on his self-control.

He didn’t quite reach a conclusion on that when they separated, the need for air suddenly too insistent to ignore. Innes’ chest _burned_ as he breathed out a shaky and trembling exhale that was rather embarrassing, but the mortification didn’t last as Innes opened his eyes and was met with Lyon’s curiously pink face.

Immediately, Innes’ eyes were drawn to study the flushed face and the small smile that broke out on the parted lips.

The sight made Innes’ chest burn warmer.

Innes’ forehead fell gently over Lyon’s, ignoring the circlet that pressed awkwardly against him. In a low voice, Innes whispered, “I always keep my word, you know.”

Lyon’s smile softened further as he released his hold over Innes’ shoulders to bring a hand to his cheek. His touch was just as soft, and Innes leaned into it as Lyon murmured, somewhat dreamily, “You’re so much nicer than the first impressions suggest, Innes.”

“Hey,” Innes huffed, quieting when Lyon’s thumb rubbed up his cheek.

“It’s alright,” Lyon said, “I know I don’t make the greatest first impression on people either.”

Innes thought of the scattered impressions of Lyon he had got _before_ Zenith. _Not worth the time and effort_ had probably been the one that had stuck to him the most in the years preceding the war. Lyon was shy and withdrawn – incompatible with him, Innes had thought dismissively.

Perhaps the only thing that had piqued Innes’ curiosity regarding him back then had been his relationship with Ephraim and Eirika, but that was about it.

 In hindsight, it was foolish.

“Innes? You’re making one of those faces again.” Lyon’s palm rubbed against his cheek, and Innes sighed, as close to giddiness as he was ever going to get. Lyon’s concerned eyes stared up at him. “Like you’re thinking something that makes you angry.”

He felt Lyon’s words as breaths on his face, and the urge to kiss him stirred again. How terribly self-indulgent he had become in the past few days alone.

In the past, he had been so sure he would settle for a woman that met his standards, if not his heart, and marry upon his ascent to the throne of Frelia. Perhaps that was why Eirika had seemed like a good option at the time: it felt stupid, thinking about it now, but she had fit into the ideal future Innes had set for himself. Or so he had thought.

He had spent his entire life training himself into thinking that what was expected of him – the marriage, the kinghood, the mastery of everything from history to archery – was what he wanted for himself too. And perhaps… that was partially why he had set his eyes on Eirika early on. She was a good candidate – an _excellent_ candidate for marriage – and so he had to want her. Had to protect her, as it was his duty.

In Eirika, he had been looking for someone _tolerable_ , someone that wouldn’t be a cause of irritation to him, instead of anything more real.

He didn’t regret that: it was good to be sensible about his options. Though, he was slowly realising, it hadn’t been fair on her.

Somehow, he had found something else entirely along the way – something warm and genuine, not unlike the summer days he had spent in childhood at Frelia’s coastal beaches. Though Innes had gained sunburns, he had also seen Tana having a good time, which back then hadn’t been as annoying as it later became.

Staring at Lyon’s concerned eyes, Innes wondered what kind of sunburns this relationship might give. Then, his eyes flicked to Lyon’s lips.

How terribly self-indulgent he had become. Would his father be angry with him if he knew?

“I was thinking,” Innes said, “of how foolish relying on first impressions alone actually is.” One of Lyon’s hands lay flat on Innes’ back, and its warmth seeped through the clothing. Innes closed his eyes halfway and laid his forehead down against Lyon’s. “First impressions never reveal enough information.”

“Hmm,” Lyon hummed and moved his hand up behind Innes’ neck, sliding over a pulse point. Whatever sadness there may have been in his voice and face before, it was now gone – replaced by a nearly giddy grin that made Innes’ stomach clench. “It’s a good thing we’re not relying on them anymore, then.”

Unable or unwilling to stop himself, Innes kissed him again.

 

*

 

Things didn’t exactly go back to normal after that. The situation had changed so fast and suddenly, and now it was on them to adjust. On Lyon’s part, this meant trying to get used to Innes going more out of his way for Lyon now that they were… together.

If he didn’t show for breakfast, Innes would come to his chamber with a tray of food and insist on watching him eat, much like Eirika would do during evenings whenever Lyon had his worse days physically and mentally.

At first, it was uncomfortable as Lyon usually was still in his night-time tunic when Innes came, but when Innes’ intentions were just that, to make Lyon eat, and Innes’ eyes didn’t linger where they weren’t supposed to, Lyon just accepted it as the new norm.

He couldn’t get enough of Innes’ company, anyway – perhaps due to having his feelings returned – so whenever it didn’t inconvenience Innes, he would take it. Lunch, snack, or dinner – at least one of these meals he spent with Innes secluded in a quiet corner of the mess hall, so people would take the hint and not disturb them.

(People did _not_ take the hint sometimes.)

Sometimes they would eat with Lute and Joshua, or whoever else they had been put in temporary teams with for a time being, but most often their company would be Eirika. She was deployed often – Kiran had mused that she had an odd motivational effect on people around her, and so wanted to use it to the fullest – but she would always find time.

Lyon was as thankful as ever for her. As much as approaching her had been a painful thought at first, he had settled into a familiar relationship with her since then, a deeper and steadier friendship than what he had before. This time, there would be no words left unsaid, no words buried beneath anxiety and envy for her brother.

Her and Innes appeared the have struck up a steady friendship as well, though more distant and more exasperating for the two of them. Lyon would listen to their interactions in silent fascination, watching how Eirika teased Innes politely but with a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes and how Innes in return scowled, but not quite as intensely as most other times.

Innes would sometimes hold his hand under the table, their fingers entwined, his face an unreadable mask but his hand warm and firm in Lyon’s. On occasion, Lyon thought he caught a dust of pink high on Innes’ cheek. But that surely was his imagination getting the best of him.

Asides from this, Innes kept up with the lessons on archery as well, taking Lyon out to the practice grounds a couple times a week. Not every day, as time didn’t allow for it, but enough for lessons to start sinking into Lyon’s body as well as his head. Though, Lyon had to admit to himself, he still was much more aware of Innes’ hands on him than the direction he should point the bow at.

Similarly, Lyon continued to go over the basics of magic theory, though now on the more complicated levels of basics, with Innes. On days when he felt fragile and brittle, it was this that helped him pull himself together: Innes listening to him attentively as he explained the roots of magic, asking clarifying questions when the need rose… Innes’ straightforward sincerity, in these moments, made Lyon feel light and positively charmed.

This sort of happiness should have been inaccessible to him, after everything.

And yet…

 

*

 

Sometimes they got side-tracked in their studies and started talking about things unrelated to the topic (magic, archery, the current situation at Askr’s borders) at hand. It wasn’t intentional – and it certainly wasn’t a distraction tactic on Innes’ part. If it were Ephraim, it might be.

On one occasion, they somehow ended up discussing family – Innes’, in particular. Lyon couldn’t remember how they had wandered into that subject, but he listened to Innes intently regardless, fascinated by the childhood stories of the Frelian siblings. Even if he was sure Innes avoided sharing the most embarrassing ones.

A pity he couldn’t ask Tana for more information as she wasn’t in Askr. Hers was an absence that showed – Eirika would sigh wistfully after her darling friend whereas Innes would scoff talking about her but something nostalgic would linger in the curve of his suppressed smile nevertheless.

“She was hopeless,” Innes scoffed, and Lyon found himself fascinated by the exasperated fondness that showed in the wave of Innes’ hand and the twitching of his lips. “Always daydreaming of something nonsensical – and getting in trouble for it.”

Innes pressed his cheek against his palm, the scowl on his face appearing poutier because of it. Lyon, studying Innes’ face and posture closely, saw nothing but reluctant wistfulness written across the minute details of Innes’ expression and the reminiscent flicker in his eyes. “I always had to clean up her messes.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Lyon scolded, smiling despite himself. “Aren’t little sisters supposed to depend on their older brothers, especially as children?”

“I suppose.” The thin line of Innes’ lips pulled into a grimace. “It was better than watching her swoon over Ephraim whenever he and Eirika visited, anyhow.”

“Ephraim, huh,” Lyon hummed, barely stifling a laugh. Somehow, it was more nostalgia than pain that clutched him now. “You weren’t charmed at all?”

“Not when he was all my sister talked about,” Innes said, rubbing at his face as if the memory exhausted him. “Thankfully shew grew past that phase – it was as if Ephraim never left, the way she kept going on about him. And after all that, she simply started complaining how I wasn’t as good a brother as Ephraim.”

Bitterness leaked into Innes’ expression, making his face go dark, which contrasted the sunlight dancing across the shelves above them and their table. An urge to brush away that furrow between Innes’ defined eyebrows struck Lyon, but instead of doing that, he leaned over their handwritten notes and pressed his hand to Innes’ face and fitted his thumb over the slope of Innes’ cheek.

“You’ve always looked out for her in your own way,” Lyon said, words nothing but a soft whisper. It still seemed to capture Innes’ attention completely. Innes’ eyes narrowed – it had taken Lyon some time to not mistake that as a sign of annoyance – and focused on him. Lyon smiled. “I was… am an only child. I always wished for the security of an older sibling – or even a younger one.”

He wouldn’t have been so lonely, he thought. Not so pressured if the royal line had had a back-up plan for Lyon’s inevitable failures and shortcomings as a prince.

“I would have counted it as a blessing to have someone look after me as earnestly as you did your sister,” Lyon said, smile widening as he gave a short laugh to cover up his gloomy thoughts. “No matter how reluctant they may have been to do so.”

He felt a muscle twitch underneath his touch, and Lyon watched in fascination as Innes tried not to smile at his words. The previous irritation gone, Innes placed his hand over the one cradling his face, long fingers sneaking between Lyon’s for a fleeting moment before Innes took the hand with his own and brought the palm to his mouth instead. A kiss, followed by another one as Innes pinned Lyon to the spot with his half-lidded stare alone.

Lyon’s _everything_ ceased to function for one dangerous moment.

“I’m here now,” Innes said, mouth moving against Lyon’s palm – it _tickled_ , Innes please. “Though certainly not as a sibling.”

The sheer confidence behind those words had Lyon’s heart flutter. Perhaps it should have sounded arrogant, but Lyon heard nothing like that.

“And I count it a blessing,” Lyon murmured, tapping at Innes’ nose with his thumb and smiling when Innes’ face scrunched up. 

It was so easy to get side-tracked these days, especially since Innes surprisingly turned out to be just as self-indulgent as Lyon when it came to their barely blooming relationship. Not to the point where their duties were forgotten, but… enough to reassure Lyon again and again of how mutual their feelings truly were.

Innes might not know how deep his insecurities truly ran, but…

 _I adore you_ , Lyon often thought, the thought intensely true – and even Innes’ awkward answers of “I know” when Lyon told him so didn’t make it any less so.

 

*

 

He still had nightmares – of course, his subconscious was ruthless, a quality the Demon King had pushed onward until it tore away at his morals. They were still of Ephraim, of Eirika, and recently of his father as well. Vigarde’s lifeless face would stare at him, equally disappointed in death as he had been in life, and Eirika and Ephraim… sometimes they were real memories, sometimes simple images of them walking away from him on a path covered in golden sunlight, leaving him to struggle and fall behind no matter how much he tried to keep up.

He would wake up alone in his bed, sweating, the scars on his abdomen aching to the point of discomfort. His head would be fuzzy, much like after the more intense battles he was forced to take part in, and distantly he knew that the entity still chained to his soul was to blame.

On these nights, Lyon wished he could do the same as he had during the months Eirika and Ephraim had stayed over at Grado – or vice versa, when Lyon’s health had allowed the travel to Renais – and sneak into someone’s room and sleep with them.

(Back then, it had been Ephraim for obvious reasons.)

He wished he could do it now, too, but… Innes shared a room with others, and Lyon didn’t wish to place undue embarrassment on him, even if he really…

Lyon would roll over and push pillows over his ears in attempt at drowning out the thought.

Later, he did end up asking Innes, in broad daylight, to sleep with him, after they had finished at the training fields. Rejection scared him, but he asked it nevertheless. Innes’ startled face – he actually _flushed_ brighter than Lyon had ever seen – was worth the awkwardness, at least.

“That is,” Innes managed, voice tight, “not at all an appropriate thing to suggest.”

“Not _that_ way,” Lyon corrected himself, looking down with a flush on his own face as he realised how his question might have sounded like. “Just… sleep.”

Inhaling and raising his eyes back up, Lyon murmured, “I used to be able to go to Ephraim when I had bad dreams… and they’ve got frequent lately again.”

He didn’t dare to look at Innes directly, so he looked just to the side from his face. While he knew better than to expect anything outright cruel from him, sometimes Innes’ honesty bordered on brutal. As Lyon was being childish, some brutality would perhaps be justified.

“Will it help you?” Innes asked after a moment of silence that stretched on uncomfortably long. “I don’t intend to tarnish your reputation by…”

“We’ve shared a bed before, Innes,” Lyon huffed, a disbelieving laughter bubbling up. Really, Innes… “There’s nothing to be tarnished in my reputation anymore, either.” Then, more softly, more vulnerably, he said, “I think it would help a lot.”

Innes appraised him for a moment longer, and the stiffness on his face started to melt away little by little. The transformation from Innes’ usual scowl to an almost smile charmed Lyon even now; it set his heart at ease, as did his verbal response. “It’d be rude of me to deny a sincere request like that.”

Innes caught himself, possibly realising how soft his voice had grown, and looked away at the targets in the distance and arrows embedded in them. “Don’t get any funny ideas, though. I plan to remain an honourable man.”

“Of course,” Lyon said, his own smile turning askew as he studied Innes’ flushed ear. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

 

*

 

It was awkward, of course, what with Innes pointedly not looking at him as they changed into their sleepwear. Innes’ stiff awkwardness would have been almost endearing if Lyon wasn’t the same, face hot and stomach in knots over the situation. He felt rather childish – but then, wasn’t trying to handle everything on his own, despite the built-up pressure and anxiety on his shoulders, the single greatest mistake he had ever made?

The bed fit both of them easily, even if they weren’t cuddling, and Innes remained a respectable distance away – amusing, considering how Innes couldn’t seem to go about his days without at least some physical contact with Lyon.

That was alright. Lyon hadn’t expected Innes to cuddle him to sleep and was grateful that he didn’t make the attempt to – didn’t assume that Lyon’s mental state was at the level where he needed to be coddled.

(The part of him that wished for affection – and it was a considerable part of him – was disappointed, however. It was conflicting, to want two different things at the same time.)

But Lyon couldn’t help himself, after all – he let his hand trail over to Innes’, fingers draping loosely between the other’s, and pressed their palms together, his softer skin against Innes’ calluses.

A moment passed without Innes saying or doing anything, and Lyon heard nothing but his own nervous heartbeat. Then Innes sighed, a resigned but not displeased sound, and his fingers tightened around Lyon’s. The distance between their bodies remained, but their hands stayed connected as they both fell asleep.

The dream, when it came, wasn’t about Ephraim this time – not entirely, at least.

It could hardly count as a dream when it was mostly only the feeling of drowning in his own body, one negative emotion piling up after another. There was no scene, no battlefield where Ephraim would give him a look of worn-out determination. (Always strong, even in the face of adversity.)

Only the sensation of falling – one that refused to end – and his own thoughts growing dark, darker, _black—_

 _Aren’t I strong enough_ danced on his lips, unsaid. _Aren’t I, Ephraim?_

It was losing himself again, losing sight of his own ideals until they became distorted versions of themselves, followed by a hollow sound of laughter that emanated from his soul itself, the accepted parasite there ever gleeful—

Lyon woke up with a strangled cry, the scar on his stomach aching even worse than his heart. _You have no right to be alive_ rang through his thoughts, as frantic as his heartbeats.

It took entirely too long to notice that his hand was crushing Innes’ and that Innes had stirred with him, now hovering above him and giving him a stare that Lyon could hardly read in this darkness and in this state of mind.

Lyon couldn’t speak, could hardly even breathe properly as his breaths came out too fast and sharp, and so he clutched Innes’ hand tighter in a desperate request for help.

“Breathe,” Innes said, voice authoritative and commanding. Distantly, some part of Lyon found it funny that Innes thought that demanding him to calm down would help him do so.

 _I’m trying_ , he thought.

Between his harsh inhales and shallow exhales, Lyon heard Innes take a deep breath, and for a moment he worried that—

“What is the thirteenth rule in the theory of dark magic?” Innes asked, quiet and stern and clearly audible over Lyon’s panic.

The question was unexpected, of course, even though Lyon knew the answer. Shakily, Lyon answered the question, syllables shaky and slurred, but Innes gave a hum of satisfaction at it.

“Correct. Now, what was the fifth addendum to the third rule?”

Lyon’s mind blanked out, but he must have answered something when Innes’ gave that approving hum yet again. He switched to questions about the common history of Magvel then, specifically about the dates and years of significant developments.

Lyon answered the questions with some difficulty and after some thought, his breathing evening out little by little. Tears still clung to his eyelashes by the end of the litany of questions, but they didn’t threaten to fall anytime soon.

Innes hadn’t let go of his hand through it all, Lyon realised as the hand around his gave a squeeze.

“You’re not shaking anymore,” Innes observed, and it might just be Lyon, but he thought he head relief in Innes’ tight-pinched voice.

“Yes,” Lyon said. Even if his panic was gone, he still… Lyon blinked, inhaling and trying to focus on something else. He squinted at the man above him, unable to make out the expression on Innes’ face. Of all the nights to not allow the moonlight to peer into the room… “I… what were those questions?”

Innes’ thumb rubbed at the side of Lyon’s hand as he sighed, relief shining through. His voice, though stern, was a little unsure, however, and Lyon didn’t know what to make of that. “I heard that making a person focus on these types of questions – or do problem-solving – would help in driving away the panic.”

“Where did you hear—” Lyon cut himself off, too tired to pursue this topic for now. The stinging ache down his torso kept pulling at his attention. “…Thank you.”

“I simply did what I—you’re hurt, somewhere.” Had Lyon made a discomforted sound, or was Innes that perceptive? It could be either way.

“Not _hurt_ ,” Lyon said rather weakly. “Just… the scars…”

“Scars?” Innes sounded mystified for a second before he seemed to realise what Lyon meant. “…Oh. Of course, you would have those…”

The silence that stretched on from there was the most awkward one Lyon had experienced yet with Innes, but at least Innes broke it himself after two minutes of hovering and clutching Lyon’s hand. “Have you seen a healer about them?”

“Yes,” Lyon said, grimacing at the memory. It had been fairly unpleasant as far as Lyon’s experiences with clerics went, but not quite as unpleasant as being treated by Princess Veronica, who definitely was not a cleric of any kind. “But it seems like it’s… a psychosomatic pain, I think one of them said.”

 Lyon licked at his dry lips, nervous but his mouth wouldn’t shut up even at the face of the risk of Innes seeing him as a weak person. “Emotional distress appears to be the trigger. No one quite knows how to treat that… type of thing.”

The following beat of silence had Lyon bite at his lower lip, fear gripping him again. It never quite left him, did it? Always there, ready to rise at the slightest threat of him being left behind again…

Innes settled beside him, the hand holding Lyon’s own never letting go, and let go of a breath Lyon hadn’t noticed Innes had been holding. Quietly, Innes said, without a hint of irritation, “I’ve met a few soldiers in my time with a similar condition.”

“If you were worried,” Innes continued, voice firm but as gentle as Innes was able to make it, “that I’d mock you for that… I certainly won’t. I believe my father once told me that often the man’s greatest enemy is the man himself. And he is right… most of the time.”

Innes’ forehead fell upon Lyon’s, clean and unobstructed touch without the circlet around Lyon’s head. His voice kept the same firm and steadfast tone, but Lyon heard the underlying _care_ there and it made his eyes sting some more. “I assume you’re thinking something terribly silly right now… allow me to say this: you are not a weak man, Lyon.”

The remnants of the dream crawled in Lyon’s memory, the feeling of—

“That _thing_ in you,” Innes said, voice cutting and startling Lyon away from the memory, his mouth millimetres away from Lyon’s, “isn’t going to win.”

The words, filled to the brim with faith in _him_ , stopped Lyon’s heart. He could barely breathe, but anxiety had little to do with it now. “How did you—”

“I’m not blind,” Innes said, “despite what my sister says sometimes.”

Innes’ free hand wandered up to Lyon’s face, to curl around a wet cheek. Innes almost lay on top of him now – only almost, as he seemed to be mindful of Lyon’s torso. And then, Innes voice turned genuinely soft; at any other time, they would surely be said with a scolding tone.

“What you can’t handle alone, there’s people around to assist you with that.”

Lyon’s eyes stung. He wanted to rub them, but it was as if his body had frozen on the spot from Innes’ words. And Innes wasn’t even done yet.

“People such as I,” Innes said. “Perhaps I cannot protect you from all heartache, but I’d be a pathetic man if I didn’t try my hardest to do so.”

Lyon’s smile, when it emerged, was wobbly. “Innes… how…”

How was it that he had found the words Lyon had been desperately wishing to hear all along? That he wasn’t alone with a growing pile of problems – that he didn’t have to handle them all by himself.

Innes’ lips pressed against the bridge of his nose. “I promise you,” he said solemnly, “that I will keep you safe.”

Lyon shivered, and managed to move his arm over Innes’ shoulders to keep him close. To keep this daydream from fading away. “I,” he mumbled, not quite crying, a surge of determination overriding exhaustion for the moment, “I will keep you safe too.”

“There’s no need,” Innes said. Stubborn and prideful, this man.

“I must,” Lyon insisted, voice shaking and fingers digging into Innes’ shoulder. “I love you, after all.”

Innes’ breath stuttered, and Lyon wished he could see the kind of face Innes was making. Seconds passed in silence, Innes’ breath and hand on Lyon’s face both trembling just enough to be notable.

The admittance came slowly, like Innes had a hard time finding the words, but Lyon cherished every awkward inhale-exhale exchange Innes took to say the words. Lyon moved his unoccupied hand from Innes’ shoulder to his face and couldn’t help but smile tiredly at the heat radiating off the skin. And then Innes said the words, Lyon’s touch coaxing them out of him. “I… I love you, too.”

“Thank you,” Lyon said, reaching blindly for Innes’ mouth to kiss.

Innes sighed, met him halfway of the little space between their lips, and muttered, “Don’t be stupid. Love doesn’t require thanks.”

Lyon smiled, curling comfortably against the chest before him, a tired laugh escaping as he marvelled at Innes’ words. “That’s right… love doesn’t. But you have earned it yourself. Thank you, Innes.”

He drifted back to sleep a few moments later to the feeling of Innes’ nose buried in the crown of his hair and Innes’ hands on him – one holding his hand, the other his waist, each touch promising the same thing as Innes’ words before.

_I’ll keep you safe._

 

*

 

Love, Innes deduced as he glared at the pitch blackness around them, made him incurably stupid.

 

*

 

Innes started sleeping with him almost every night from that point on, regardless of whether Lyon requested it or not. While Innes was troubled over the implications of such an arrangement, he only needed to think of Lyon trembling under the hold of his dreams and the dilemma would vanish from his mind instantly. He wasn’t a damn animal; he wouldn’t lay an improper hand on the other just because they happened to share a bed.

And, truth be told, he had a soft spot for Lyon’s relaxed sleeping face, which was a sight he got to witness more as they adjusted to their arrangement.

The negatives that came with this were exactly what Innes had initially assumed them to be: mainly, Joshua’s irritatingly knowing grins, accompanied with jokes about well-slept nights, along with some other people’s commentary upon seeing him slip into Lyon’s chamber at night with sleepwear tucked neatly under his arm.

Kiran was frustratingly nonchalant about it. One would think this would mean some peace of mind for Innes, but Kiran kept offering him very much unwanted advice on what Innes considered to be a marriage-exclusive… activity.

Then he found out that cohabitation before wedding was a common occurrence in Kiran’s world, which explained much about Kiran’s attitude towards that and the other marriage-exclusive business.

“Saving it for marriage is just plain old-fashioned back home,” Kiran said when they discussed it after one of the numerous strategy meetings held between Kiran and tacticians. Kiran’s mouth had twitched up in amusement. “Then again, so is royalty.”

Innes made a note to pursue further discussion regarding the forms of government in Kiran’s home world. It sounded like a worthwhile subject, unlike this one.

“I understand,” Kiran continued, “that it’s embarrassing to be joked about a topic that’s obviously a moral dilemma for you, but—”

“It’s not _embarrassing_ ,” Innes denied with an entirely too hasty wave of his hand. “However, nasty rumours are an annoyance.”

Kiran smiled wryly at that, and Innes was sure they were rolling their eyes beneath the pristine white hood. “Innes, in the middle of a war, I don’t think that many people are going to hound you or Lyon for the oh so horrid dangers of premarital sex.”

 _You’d be surprised_ , Innes thought sourly.

“Besides,” Kiran continued, a slow grin emerging on their face, “the more you go on about it makes it sound like you really want to—”

Innes exited the room with a loud slam of the door.

 

*

 

Between all that, however, Innes kept up with the scout reports as well as other teams’ missions and so he eventually learnt of the woman that had first appeared before him and Lyon back in Walles Forest. The information was scattered and vague at best as the woman did not appear to have any significant recorded rank in the Emblian army. Therefore, direct confrontation and eyewitnesses were the only remotely trustworthy source of info on her, and those were scarce.

It was troubling, in Innes’ opinion. A woman that could have Princess Veronica follow her demurely out of a battle could not be anything but a significant player in this war.

And if that woman, whose name was apparently _Loki_ , wanted something from Lyon… The thought of it made Innes purse his lips in disgust. He already hated giving the enemy what they wanted in general, but this time it was an even more intense feeling. Pride was a factor, but not the defining aspect this time.

Loki, Innes learnt from a mission report, was a staff user with both gravity-controlling and healing magic. A troublesome combination, but at least she wasn’t on horseback. As a staff user, she would be vulnerable to Lyon’s magic – and because Kiran appeared to _adore_ putting Lyon in unnecessarily risky situations, Innes had no doubt Lyon would be forced to meet her again eventually. Perhaps even soon.

Until that time came, Innes would pore over what little information there was to get.

 

*

 

“Is that why you’ve been so busy lately?” Lyon asked when he told him about the reports one night after they had lain down on the mattress. The candle on the nightstand cast weak light over them, and Innes could see the worried wrinkle between Lyon’s brows as he looked up at him.

“That, and other duties,” Innes said, peering down at Lyon resting on his chest. He appeared to feel at ease, if the furrowed brown and concerned eyes were overlooked. “She’s been a little more active recently, but she’s very elusive unless she feels like taunting the royals of this land.”

“Princess Sharena and others have met her?”

“Yes, briefly.” Innes had only heard about it from Kiran in passing between all the teasing. (They were supposed to _stop_ doing that, but apparently something about Innes just invited needless prodding and ridiculous jests.)

“Hm.” Lyon set his head down once more, cheek pressed over Innes’ heartbeat, while his fingers absently fiddled with the hem of Innes’ nightshirt. Their warmth seeped through the flimsy fabric, and Innes barely stifled a sigh. “She’s preparing to make a move, then.”

“It seems that way,” Innes muttered, tilting his head to bury his nose into Lyon’s hair. This time he did sigh as Lyon’s fingers slid under the shirt, warm fingers wandering thoughtlessly over bare skin. To distract himself, Innes muttered, “Whatever she wants from you, she won’t get.”

“Right,” Lyon said, and Innes smiled as worry left Lyon’s voice, replaced by satisfaction. Lyon shifted until his lips met with Innes’ neck, brushing over the pulse point. “Because you’ll keep me safe. And…”

“And you will keep me safe,” Innes finished, closing his eyes as Lyon’s lips pressed over his pulse. The touch sent a shiver down his spine, and Innes couldn’t ignore the warmth of Lyon’s body against his. His hold around Lyon’s slim waist tightened. “Though I don’t expect you to need to bother.”

“Mmhm,” Lyon hummed, his voice and breath vibrating on Innes’ skin as he pressed another gentle kiss against his neck. Softly, Lyon said, “I don’t want to see anyone die for me anymore.”

Innes could have snorted, said something about their summoners’ extraordinary ability to prevent heroes from dying in this world, but the vulnerability in Lyon’s voice made Innes hold his tongue.

“I know,” he said instead as he slowly turned them around until it was him on top of Lyon – that vulnerable face right beneath his, lips parted and amethyst-like eyes peering up. Innes sighed and leaned down to kiss those lips, eyes closed as he immersed himself in the feeling of Lyon’s pliant mouth.

One of Lyon’s arms came around Innes’ shoulders to pull him harder into the kiss, and Innes followed without thought, kissing Lyon deeper as his fingers dug into Lyon’s waist and tunic. Lyon’s hand beneath Innes’ shirt trailed to Innes’ back now, shivers following the trek of Lyon’s palm.

Breaking the kiss for air, Innes breathed against Lyon’s parted lips, “I won’t let you suffer any heartache for my sake.”

Lyon’s face glowed with soft flush under the candlelight. “I know,” he parroted Innes’ earlier words, a hand roaming from Innes’ shoulder to Innes’ hair and settled there, fingers carding through tousled curls. “That’s the kind of man you are.”

He pulled Innes into another kiss – slow and tender as usual, but something about it made Innes’ stomach curl with want. He didn’t pay attention to that, however, far too focused on the sweet taste of Lyon’s lips and the feeling of Lyon’s body subtly shifting beneath him.

How could he have ever not loved him?

In the face of this feeling, his attempts with Eirika back in Magvel seemed foolish, even downright buffoonish.

(Which they had been, given that he hadn’t truly held that kind of affection for her.)

Lyon made a sound against his mouth, and Innes would have pulled away to find out what was wrong if Lyon hadn’t stopped him and pulled him deeper, forcing them to stay locked at lips until they no longer knew which huffs of breath were whose.

When their lips separated again for air, their foreheads stayed together, their dazed gazes locked to one another.

If Innes’ mouth wasn’t already dry, it would be at the sight of Lyon looking at him with those dark, wanting eyes, lips parted and—Innes’ brain malfunctioned before he could take in the full sight of the man underneath him.

He wasn’t sure how he was looking at Lyon himself, but something depraved must have shown on his face as Lyon’s body gave a shudder beneath him.

Innes swallowed, suddenly aware of how warm he felt. Of how the hand pressed against his back burned. He managed a hoarse, “We should sleep.”

It came out pathetically weakly.

Lyon blinked at him, and Innes couldn’t stop staring at the flush on his face.

“We should,” Lyon agreed, voice at least just as affected as Innes’. Still, he didn’t remove his hands from Innes’ hair and back, and the look on his face remained wanting. Innes’ stomach went tight, the desire there now embarrassingly persistent.

“Then,” Innes said, licking at his lips and shivering when he saw Lyon’s eyes focus on that, “that’s what we do.”

“Right.” Lyon blinked, as if waking from a trance, and pulled his hands away from Innes before settling them on the mattress as Innes pushed himself away from Lyon entirely. He leaned over to the nightstand to blow the flickering flame out so that Lyon would have no chance at studying his face, which would show just how mortified Innes felt with himself.

“Good night,” Innes said curtly, inching away from Lyon just to be safe. Lyon didn’t follow him, thankfully, and settled down on his own side of the bed as he returned Innes’ words in what sounded like a disappointed whisper.

Innes ignored that.

 

*

 

 _You absolute tool,_ Innes scolded himself two hours later when he still hadn’t fallen asleep. _You absolute moron._

Joshua would have a field day with this.

 

*

 

And Joshua did. Innes wasn’t quite sure why he spoke to him about it. The reason might be about Joshua’s company being nice and the man offering solid advice when he wasn’t being _an idiot_ , perhaps.

They had finished sparring – Innes needed to keep his swordsmanship at a decent level even if he hardly utilized the skill here – when Innes told him about it. There had been no point to keep it a secret as Joshua had already noticed something to be on his mind.

Wooden swords tucked away, sweat lingering at Innes’ temples and on his neck (from practice or the prospect of speaking to Joshua about _this_ , who knew) as they sat down on withering late-summer grass. Theirs was a remote corner, some ways from other soldiers that were using the midday heat as an excuse to torture themselves with training.

“So,” Joshua drawled, the hat back on top of his blazing red hair as he sat cross-legged. He eyed at Innes from under the rim of his hat, eyes curious and between mild concern and expectation.  “What’s bothering you?”

Innes explained the situation as well as he could – gods, he didn’t know why he was subjecting himself to this – without stuttering or letting Joshua see just how ruffled the whole thing had truly left him.

“You’re not pulling my leg, are you?” Joshua asked, eyebrows raised, the side of his mouth twitching but not yet rising into a smile of any kind.

“Why on Earth would I?” Innes scowled, and now Joshua’s mouth did rise into a wide smile just before he started laughing – _cackling_ until he was wheezing for air.

“You stop that right now,” Innes hissed, leaning away as Joshua slapped at the ground beside his knees, still cackling like a moron.

“I _knew_ something like that would happen,” Joshua managed between amused laughter. “I knew it the moment you gave in and moved into his chamber.”

“I didn’t move _in_ ,” Innes interjected, the frown on his face deepening at the mere suggestion. “I still utilize my space in our room, don’t I?”

“Well, yes,” Joshua said, waving a hand. Blades of grass caught between his fingers were sent flying. “But you’re using it as a storage place now. Not where you live.”

Innes hated that he couldn’t exactly argue with that.

“Anyway,” Joshua waved his hand again, dismissing the previous train of thought. “What do you want me to tell ya? I don’t think you would be delighted to have me tell you to marry him to avoid this kinda moral dilemma.” Joshua paused. “Which would be kind of a douche thing to do, so don’t do that, alright?”

Not for the first time, Innes wondered just what kind of heartless bastard people pictured him as. Not that their perception of him and his logic mattered, but it was somewhat disgruntling to hear that people could picture him stooping so low.

“How many times must I tell you that I’m not that type of idiot?” Innes retorted, arms crossed over his chest, and rolled his eyes as Joshua’s grin widened again.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you might say.” Something like relief slipped into Joshua’s tone, which Innes caught without error. He frowned at Joshua, wondering what— Joshua continued, more seriously, “You’ve told him about this, right?”

Innes blinked. “Told him what?”

“The whole no touchy-touchy stuff before marriage deal?”

“Don’t call it _that_ ,” Innes said, only to regret it when Joshua’s devilish grin returned full force. “Actually, never mind. Call it that, I don’t care.”

“Did you talk to him about it, though?”

“No,” Innes said, furrowing his brow. “I expect him to have a similar opinion on the matter, being royalty from the same world as you and me, after all.”

Lyon’s disappointed-sounding sigh as he wished Innes good night the previous evening was simply a delusion. Innes closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose at the thought of it just as Joshua gave a disappointed sigh of his own.

“I don’t think all of us have taken that tradition as much to heart as you have, Innes,” Joshua said evenly, laughter very much gone from his voice. “Magvel’s history is full of those kinds of stories where royalty act like wanton pigs, ain’t it? Dunno why you hold everyone to your own standards, when that’s the case.”

Innes grimaced, opening his eyes to glare at the cloudless sky. That was certainly true, but… “Lyon isn’t one of those types. Neither am I.”

“Yeah,” Joshua said, twirling a curl of red hair between his fingers thoughtfully now. “But I don’t think he… would even dare to think that you might wanna tie the knot with him one day, y’know? His self-esteem ain’t exactly rational.”

“This is… true.” The way Lyon talked about himself sometimes… especially after _those_ dreams… Innes didn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny the fact that Lyon wasn’t quite at peace with himself.

The underlying emotion in his voice when he said he didn’t want anyone to die for his sake anymore… there had been something painful there that Innes didn’t know how to address. At least not anymore, now that he cared about the effect his words would have on Lyon.

“See, you should tell him what’s on your mind,” Joshua said. “He can’t really tell whether you back off ‘cause you don’t want him or out of your own self-inflicted moral code.”

The sheer thought of Lyon assuming that Innes didn’t want him left a bitter taste in Innes’ mouth. It was unacceptable that Lyon should even assume so. However, the thought of confronting Lyon about it and telling him he was terribly wrong about it was… embarrassing.

He was good at confrontation, he liked to think, but _this_ type of confrontation was a little…

Innes rubbed at his face to clear his thoughts, perhaps to hide the foolish flush spreading to his face. What was he, a teenager?

 “I’ll talk to him,” Innes said reluctantly in the end, fingers digging into the grass and bits of soil getting under his nails. “I won’t have him misunderstand my intentions.”

Joshua chuckled at that, but not at Innes’ expense. When Innes looked up at him, he wore a genuinely pleased smile. “Good,” he said when their eyes met. “I’m invested in your relationship now, y’know? I want to see it flourish.”

“Why?” Innes stared at him incredulously. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Hey,” Joshua huffed, mildly offended. “I care for my friends’ happiness. Is that so hard to believe?”

“You’re making many assumptions here,” Innes said dryly, “like the one about you and I being friends.”

“It’s all right,” Joshua said, his smile turning infuriating as he pulled a coin out of his sleeve, “you’ll come to terms with it eventually. Wanna bet on it?”

Innes stared at the coin. From this angle he couldn’t tell if it was fixed to have both sides to be tails, but… “Bring it on.”

Like he was going to lose a betting match to him today.

 

*

 

He did.

 

*

 

He tried to bring up the topic with Lyon over the next few days, but somehow there never was a proper time for it as Eirika and Lute kept inserting themselves into his and Lyon’s daily schedules and by the time night came, both were much too tired for serious conversation or heavy kissing sessions for that matter.

Their studying sessions were hardly the time to bring up the concept of sexual intercourse – at least, Innes thought so as he carefully avoided that topic even as they once again kept slipping to conversing about their cultures and differences between Frelia and Grado’s military forces.

Their archery practice was definitely not the time for that conversation, either. Innes was already too conscious of how many unnecessary hands-on adjustments he did to Lyon’s posture, so even thinking of approaching that topic when his hands steadied Lyon’s hips unnecessarily had Innes’ mind nearly collapse on itself. Not that he would ever admit that anything could have such a thorough effect on him. At least it didn’t show outwardly – Lyon would have asked something surely.

Soon it was too late to even contemplate having that conversation as Kiran and the Askran royalty called several teams into strategy meetings in the wake of discovering Princess Fjorm of Nifl and bringing her back to the castle not too long ago. Múspell, another nation in the world of Zenith, had conquered Nifl and joined forces with Embla – that was the short explanation the tired princess of the nation of snow and ice gave.

She also had more info on the woman Innes had been trying to keep tabs on.

When Innes asked Princess Fjorm about her, the princess appeared to freeze on the spot for a solid minute. At first look he assumed it was fear, but he had to correct that assumption when Fjorm’s face twisted with pure, unadulterated _rage_.

The room temperature dropped several degrees in the face of her unexpected burst of anger, and it was only Princess Sharena’s kind hand over her shoulder that had Fjorm regain her senses.

“She,” Fjorm said, voice as frosty as her eyes, “goes by the name of Loki.”

The stern downward curve of her mouth more than suggested how she felt about Loki.

Innes bit back the impatient _we know_ comment that his mouth itched to utter.

“Though I cannot say if she is, well, _she_ ,” Fjorm acknowledged next, eyes closed and shoulders stiff as she took a few sharp breaths to steady her nerves. The memory of Loki obviously bothered her to an unhealthy level. “She… Loki knows transformation magic. Which is one of the reasons my country fell so fast.”

Alfonse and Sharena both grimaced, and even Innes felt half-inclined to do so. Such magic would be no trouble if he had Frelia’s spy network at his hands, but here, with some questionable, if not even outright untrustworthy, allies at their side? How this Loki would apply this magic into the enemy’s strategy could prove to be devastating.

It was going to be troublesome, but… Innes was up for the task. Just a glance at Lyon standing stiffly by his side, and Innes knew he couldn’t allow Loki’s tomfoolery to go on. Though, taking a closer look at Lyon, Innes didn’t see that much fear on him, only silent determination in the way Lyon’s hands curled protectively around the tome he held against his chest.

He seemed prepared for what was to come.

He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Lyon, Innes swore this to himself and on his pride.


	5. V.

They were sent out to meet the combined forces of Embla and Múspell at the border between Askr and Embla. Commander Anna had somehow obtained a few warp tomes somewhere along the way – no one really questioned her ability and access to rare tomes anymore – and each group of four got one of these precious items.

“They contain enough magical energy for five uses,” Commander Anna had said to all of them, a stern frown on her face. “No fooling around with it! You all need to return here after the battles are over.”

Kiran gave each team separate orders and what was probably meant to be a pep talk. When they came to Innes and Lyon’s group, they had a soft smile on their face.

“Scouts said they have some archers out there,” they said to Lyon, handing a round talisman-looking accessory to Lyon’s hands. “You’re already their worst nightmare, but this will help you further.”

“Kiran…” Lyon said slowly, embarrassment tinging his voice.

Kiran chuckled. “Was that too much?”

“Just a bit,” Lyon said as he tied the offered talisman to his wrist. It had an orb (a sacred seal, summoner called them) attached to it, one imbued with magical energy that gave its holder protection and strength. Lyon glanced at it before looking up at Kiran again. “Are you sure it’s fine…?”

“Of course,” Kiran said, with confidence that could match Innes’ own. That simple answer satisfied Lyon, whose shoulders relaxed, and a small smile emerged on his face at the reminder that Kiran found him useful.

Being trusted made a warm feeling bloom in him – he wouldn’t let that trust go to waste, he decided as Kiran exchanged words with Innes.

Looking around the wide room, Lyon caught Eirika looking at him. She stood with her own team – whose faces Lyon didn’t recognise in the least, but he knew that hers was a team of horsemen – and gave a slight wave of her hand when their eyes met.

 _Stay safe,_ she mouthed at him.

 _You too,_ Lyon mouthed back, straightening his posture when Naglfar threatened to slip from where it was pressed between his arm and side. Eirika’s gaze slipped to someone behind Lyon. He could guess who, and that made his smile turn fonder.

At least the jealousy from his past had evaporated somewhere along the way – it felt so much better to just be happy for Eirika than stare after her with a petty feeling.

Lute was the one to warp their team out, brows crinkled in concentration as she activated the spell. A burst of bright magic encased the four of them – and then they were already far away from the Order’s library, their feet firmly planted on scorched ground.

Scorched?

“A recent battle,” Joshua observed as he and Innes bent down while Lyon and Lute kept an eye on their surroundings. There were no thick woods around – only shrubbery and burnt grass as well as an ominous feeling in the air that Lyon couldn’t ignore.

“Princess Fjorm said something about the King of Múspell having something to do with fire, didn’t she?” Lyon raised his voice, just enough for the crouching duo to hear him. Lute nodded absently at his words as Innes and Joshua looked up, one’s face stern and the other’s face neutral but focused.

“Yes, I believe she did,” Lute mused, inspecting one particularly blackened spot on the ground like it was a new species of fungus and thus terribly interesting. “His name was Surtr, wasn’t it?”

Lyon had a horrible feeling, one that Innes encouraged by muttering, “Too much of a coincidence to actually be a coincidence.”

Lyon’s fingers curled against the spine of Naglfar so tightly he might lose his sense of touch from his hands soon, but it was better than allowing worry to overtake him.

He wouldn’t be consumed by his bad feelings anymore.

 

*

 

So he thought, but… things went to hell rather quickly, though the King of Múspell remained thankfully absent even through the ambush from the combined forces of Embla and Múspell. Veronica, however, did not. Her wind magic tore across the battle field, wild and erratic and almost uncaring of who stood in its way, only to be blocked and nullified by Lyon’s dark magic.

Veronica didn’t scream at him. If anything, she only stared gloomily at him from her side of the field, and somehow that made Lyon far more tense than the idea of her tossing harsh words at him for leaving her side. Behind her, infantry and armoured units emerged – Innes grunted at the latter while Lute and Lyon both gave slight smiles.

It was Innes that shot Veronica down with two swift arrows over the ongoing battles. Lyon didn’t catch sight of the arrows, but he heard them whirring past him and then slamming into their target, pulling a strangled scream of pain from Veronica. Her agony was lost under the other noises that rang in the battlefield soon.

Lyon flicked his wrist, the spell on his lips, and the familiar surge of energy stayed until another enemy collapsed.

The tingling of his skin that usually preceded his blank-outs came, as expected. It was uncomfortable, but not all-consuming, and Lyon pushed it away. He knew what it was. He would not rely on that borrowed power now that he had the chance to ignore it.

He thought of Ephraim, who surely would appreciate him relying on himself rather than an ancient entity of evil.

He thought of Innes – _you are not a weak man, Lyon_ – and uttered a quick incantation under his breath when he saw an axe fighter attempt to sneak upon the said archer few metres to Lyon’s left. The thick fog of magical energy swallowed the soldier up, an audible _crunch_ following with a splash of crimson.

Nearby, Lute’s clear voice rang clear and a shot of lightning magic struck down a group of enemy swordsmen that apparently thought their victory was assured against a fragile-looking girl like her. Lyon flinched at the ensuing screams of horror, firmly not looking in that direction as he focused on Innes’ crouched figure.

This time, he’d keep the person he loved safe.

This time…

But, it all turned to hell soon after Veronica’s retreat and the defeat of her personal guards. A larger force emerged, warped to the battlefield and accompanied by a face Lyon had only seen once but which had been imprinted in his memory without error. Her – _their_ – presence was suffocating even from afar, or perhaps Lyon’s cowardice was once again getting the best of him.

The sweat forming on the back of his neck had little to do with the already finished battles or the simmering heat that lingered about this place.

“Hey,” Innes’ firm voice, closer than Lyon had expected, nearly startled him out of his skin. As did the touch of Innes’ hand on the small of his back, fleeting yet demanding Lyon’s attention. “Focus.”

“Right,” Lyon said, and flicked to another page of Naglfar. Fear and anxiety could wait a bit longer, he had people dear to him to protect.

 

*

 

Hell, Lyon figured, was a little like this.

Hell was scorching heat that came seemingly out of nowhere and seeped into one’s bones. Hell was bodies strewn across a battlefield – both foe and friend – as the stench of death permeating through the air invaded his sense. Much like it had back when his father had died, resulting in Lyon’s desperate attempt at reviving him.

The stench of death had never left Vigarde, though, not once – or Lyon’s nose had grown too sensitive to it amid his cohabitation with the Demon King. His panic at being left alone with problems too big for his slim shoulders to carry had resulted in horrible, horrible things.

This stench reminded him of it, now.

Behind him were his three companions, knocked unconscious but not dead – Lyon’s trembling fingers had found their pulses, each one strong and steady.

He knew it was deliberate, for Loki to get them out of the way before approaching him. Innes, now lying in a crumpled heap of limbs little ways from Joshua and Lute, had deduced it too when he had told Lyon to get away.

“I’m not giving them what they want,” Innes had hissed.

There had been no escaping from Loki’s gravity-manipulation spells, however, and Lyon’s knees had weighed him down into immobility, forced to watch his friends (and a _lover_ , as Loki cooed afterwards) be beaten into unconsciousness with quickly cast magic. Not that he didn’t try to stop it from happening: Naglfar’s magic had Loki sway on their feet for a moment, but it wasn’t enough.

Now, his breath caught and heart racing, Lyon stared at Loki, whose smile hadn’t dimmed in the least despite the burns that showed on their feminine face.

“We meet again,” Loki said, finally addressing him with the satisfied tone of someone just about to have their long-term goal fulfilled. Lyon’s fingers dug into the cover of Naglfar, its magic an unsteady beat under his skin. Loki’s smile turned coy as they slipped a stray strand of hair behind their ear. “Prince Lyon, won’t you just hand that over? You’ll be spared from great heartache if you do.”

Lyon’s heart refused to settle down. He had never been one for combat like this – not one-on-one, life-or-death. The sweat dripping down his neck was of fear, of anxiety, of feelings he was too intimate with.

“I will not,” he said, too softly. Self-righteous words like _I cannot allow it to be used for evil_ got stuck in his throat before they had a chance to be spoken – hadn’t he tried to kill Ephraim with it before?

He had no right to speak of things such as right or wrong, when he had gone to the deep end of wrong for the sake of the idea of what was right in his head.

 _The end justifies the means_ , he had told himself, encouraged by the Demon King’s whispers and the clouds that had narrowed his insight.

But those clouds were gone now, even if Demon King wasn’t entirely.

This time… this time…

Loki’s sigh was heavy with barely concealed annoyance, and Lyon refocused. No time for self-reflection now – one mistake, and he would have to see someone die again.

(Even Kiran couldn’t keep resurrecting fallen heroes endlessly, he thought – not to mention that he wasn’t sure of the extent of that power and how damaging it was. He’d rather not take the risk, not again when his dreams were filled with the lifeless eyes of his father peering at him.)

“Perhaps you’re not as kind as people make you out to be,” Loki said, and Lyon shuddered at the deep danger present in their lilting voice. They took a step forward, the end of their gravity-controlling staff digging into the ground harshly. “No kind person would allow their friends to die over the sake of one tome.”

“I never said I was kind,” Lyon said, fighting back the urge to take a retreating step from Loki’s approach. His fingers slipped between the tome, searching for a particular page as he kept his eyes on the enemy. “But they will not die, either.”

Loki’s smile widened. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this, darling,” Loki crooned, voice much too sugary to be genuine, “but it seems your sweetheart’s stubborn nature has rubbed off on you a little bit. It’s unfortunate, really. I didn’t intend to shatter your heart today.”

Lyon sensed the casting of magic before the effects became visible and grit his teeth as he frantically flipped through several pages at once. Not this one, not that one… The heat in the air prickled at him, building up the long-lingering tension deep within him.

Lyon’s fingers halted, coming to a stop at the right page just as Loki’s figure began to transform, the feminine form turning more slim, thinner but not without muscle, clothes and staff shifting shape along with Loki’s body.

Loki’s hair turned short, its colour turning lighter and _greener_ until it stuck with a shade of turquoise.

It was that shade of hair and shape of bangs that had Lyon take an instinctive step back out of sudden, uncontrollable anxiety. The staff turned into a spear – a familiar shape, as well.

An entirely too familiar pair of eyes settled on him, and Lyon’s stomach dropped at the curl of Ephraim’s mouth, at the dry grin this _mimicry_ of Ephraim gave him.

“Lyon,” said a far too familiar voice, “I wish it didn’t come down to this, my friend.”

Hell was having to see your dearest friend being worn as a costume by an enemy in an attempt to manipulate you.

Lyon hated, _hated_ that even though he knew this was Loki manipulating him, that this was an exquisite torture meant to paralyze him into giving in, he still couldn’t help feeling utter fear in the face of it.

_You were never one for combat._

_Here I come, Lyon._

Ephraim’s eyes bore into him, and Lyon felt the gaze on his skin as if it physically burned him.

“Stop that,” Lyon said, weaker than he’d have liked his voice to come out. His fingernail scratched at the page he had been searching for in Naglfar. Lyon inhaled. Exhaled. The anxiety didn’t go away. He hadn’t been prepared for this, even though he should have from the moment he had heard that Loki knew something as obscure as transformation magic.

Siegmund, for that was the spear that the staff had manifested into, twirled under Ephraim’s – no, _Loki’s_ – handling. Ephraim’s eyes still locked to Lyon’s face, he said, “I have no choice, you know. After what you’ve done.”

The words were heavy, regretful. Loki knew how to act.

“This doesn’t have to end in blood, Lyon.” Something pleading in Ephraim’s… Loki’s… tone now. Lyon wished he could close his ears from it, but they still yearned for Ephraim’s voice just like the rest of Lyon had once yearned for Ephraim’s everything. “Hand over the tome, and things can go back to how they were.”

The underlying impatience betrayed Loki’s Ephraim act, but Lyon’s heart clenched at Ephraim’s voice referring to the old days of their youth.

“Things can never be the same again,” Lyon said, finding his voice. Despite their trembling, he believed in his words.

The good of the past had been shadowed by his envy, his silent pining, his own suffocation in things that he couldn’t ever be. Ephraim and Eirika’s friendship had been his most treasured possession, but it had hidden secrets that had eventually engulfed them all and destroyed not only Lyon and the twins but also their countries.

There was nothing to go back to – no matter how Lyon still wished for Ephraim’s companionship, of reassuring smiles and promises of everlasting friendship.

Lyon glanced down at Naglfar and pushed open its covers to the page his fingers had been pressing on for the last few moments. When he looked up again, Ephraim’s face was pained – but there was a quality of fakeness that stood out to Lyon in the forced downward tilt of Ephraim’s mouth. His eyes, in contrast, were blazing.

“Don’t say that,” he said, so very much like Ephraim that Lyon couldn’t bear to keep looking at him. But… the cadence of this Ephraim’s voice was all wrong now that he listened closely. “Lyon, do you not want to go back to being friends? With none of this…” Loki-Ephraim possibly gestured between them; Lyon didn’t look. “…to stand between us?”

Lyon uttered the incantation for the spell he had looked up, unable to look up from the tome as he held up his hand. This wasn’t Ephraim. Merely someone borrowing his face and clothes.

He wondered if this was how Ephraim had felt back then.

( _I have always loved you. I have always hated you._ )

“Lyon,” Ephraim’s voice said, and Lyon squeezed his eyes shut as he blindly aimed the spell at the image of his friend. Again, the strange feeling of something trying to rise from the depths of his consciousness came. Lyon pushed it back just as he pushed the spell forward, pulling his lips tight together when he heard a forced “whoa” from Loki’s disguised form.

He threw a glance backwards once he opened his eyes again, at Innes’ unconscious form. The blood running down his face had scared Lyon, but most of it wasn’t Innes’ – just the enemies’ that had got too close for comfort.

Lyon had too much on the line to lose his mind over Loki’s attempt at ruffling his feathers. As successful as it was, he couldn’t allow it to go on.

 _Innes,_ Lyon thought as he shot another spell at Loki. He had promised – he had promised he’d keep him safe – and even if Innes had said it wasn’t necessary, Lyon still…

The tip of Siegmund grazed at Lyon’s cheek, the surprise of the sudden lunge from his opponent paralyzing Lyon’s tongue in the middle of another desperate attempt at keeping Loki away.

Blood trickled down his face, and Ephraim’s eyes bore into his once more, much closer than they had been mere moments ago. Lyon’s hands clutched at Naglfar so hard pain began to climb up his knuckles.

Ephraim’s smile was so terribly close to Lyon’s face. Lyon could feel his breath.

“It’s all right, Lyon,” he said, steady and calm – as if he wasn’t trying to steal Naglfar for some unknown purpose that was potentially worse than Lyon’s had initially been. “We can go back to how we used to be – just give me that tome.”

Lyon shoved the heel of his boot over Ephraim’s toes, watched as the hand holding Siegmund fell, and retreated as fast as he could, glancing around to make sure where Innes and the others were. He couldn’t allow Ephraim… Loki to hurt them.

They kept dancing around each other for the next few minutes, though Lyon was already growing exhausted from all the previous battles and the anxiety that the sight of a familiar face had lit in him. Anxiety and adrenaline both could keep him going for a while longer, but Lyon knew it wouldn’t last forever.

As did Loki, whose smile looked wrong on Ephraim’s face. Lyon _hated_ how it twisted Ephraim’s face in a manner that wasn’t like him at all.

“You’re rather stubborn about this,” Loki said, with Ephraim’s voice. It was too high, Lyon thought, too hasty. These differences put him more at ease, though… the feeling of Siegmund piercing him burned in the back of his mind, as did the memory of Ephraim’s hand cradling the back of his head as Lyon whispered his farewells to the boy he once loved.

“Is Fomortiis that much better company than Eirika and I?”

Lyon froze, despite himself. The words stung. His momentary weakness gave Ephraim ( _Loki_ , _you fool, it’s Loki_ ) the chance to lunge at him and elbow him straight to where Siegmund had once upon a time struck the decisive blow. Pain erupted in Lyon’s body, even if the impact itself wasn’t that hard as Ephraim ( _LOKI!)_ pinned him to the ground.

Siegmund’s tip pressed against Lyon’s throat and his body pressing Lyon down, Ephraim muttered, “Give up, Lyon. You can’t do anything.”

It almost made Lyon want to laugh. He had imagined Ephraim saying such things in the past – but hearing him say it now, the only thing that rang in Lyon’s head was _you really aren’t Ephraim at all._

His eyes closed with his grimace, the pain from his scars unexpectedly harsh and blinding, and he heard Ephraim’s voice once more.

“You don’t need to suffer any longer if you give in now.”

_Nothing like Ephraim at all._

 

*

 

When Lyon opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the battlefield – and Loki’s Ephraim disguise was nowhere to be seen either. But the stench of death remained, possibly thicker than it had been before.

The thick purple fog that surrounded Lyon was familiar from the rare nightmares that didn’t deal with Ephraim and his face when he looked at Lyon the moment of their final struggle with one another. It used to be terrifying.

Now, though… he was tired.

He walked on blindly towards the low hissing sound. Someone was in pain – he could guess who.

The fog lifted to make way for a throne built of bones and skulls. Death smelt the strongest there, and Lyon nearly gagged from the heaviness of it. Once his nose settled down, Lyon assessed the throne blandly.

In his dreams, it had always been a terrifying, fear-inducing sight, one that had Lyon lose his breath and himself while Fomortiis’ growls had echoed in the distance.

Now, Lyon was impatient. He didn’t have time for this. He had people to protect – _Innes_ to protect – from Loki and their underhanded tricks.

Even so, he had to admit that seeing his own self seated upon that throne of corpses made his stomach twist uneasily and an old fear to rise again. His cowardice wouldn’t go away that easily, after all, no matter how hard he worked at it.

 _“You_ ,” the other Lyon hissed, his voice guttural and not at all like Lyon’s own. The difference made it even clearer who this one was. Lyon’s hands twitched at his sides, and he realized he no longer had Naglfar in his hands.

It made sense.

It was _his_ , after all.

Lyon studied the forlorn figure up on the throne, more freely than he ever could have in the past. Fomortiis wore his skin and face, both of which were pallid and grey. From this distance, Lyon couldn’t see the eyes, but he was sure they would be without life.

Back in the castle, Lyon had become able to pick up a mirror again somewhere along the long weeks. His face, he knew, no longer looked anything like the one above on that lonely throne now. His had a healthier glow on it now, eyes bright and alive – Eirika’s words, not his own – and…

Well, Innes had said it was pleasant to look at on more than one occasion.

Things had changed since the time Lyon had looked like the one before him now.

 _“You,”_ Fomortiis hissed again, standing up and stepping down towards him – or limping, rather, as the decomposing body Fomortiis used appeared to not obey much the Demon King’s will. Or, rather, it was the Demon King itself that was starting to rot away.

 _“Your soul is still intact.”_ Fomortiis glared at him, his face twisting unnaturally. _“That should not be.”_

It shouldn’t. Fomortiis was a parasite that should have eaten Lyon alive, and perhaps he would have if Lyon hadn’t winded up in Zenith. Perhaps he would have if Kiran hadn’t taken Lyon to Askr.

 _“You should not be able to resist me,”_ Fomortiis continued, scowling darkly. Seeing that expression on the face of a shadow of himself gave Lyon a shiver; was this what the Eirika he had met in this world had dealt with? Fomortiis’ hand reached out to him, and only now Lyon saw how bony the body beneath the layers of robes was. _“So, how?”_

“You’re dying,” Lyon observed, astonished as the bony wrist halted mid-air before it could even reach him. He caught sight of a sickeningly purple bruise on the pallid skin. Something about that realisation had Lyon’s chest tighten. He had thought he would be stuck with his soul-sharing parasite, but Fomortiis was actually dying?

He would have laughed at life throwing yet another curve ball at him, if it weren’t for the loud, resonating growl that escaped from Fomortiis. _“That wretch, Ephraim, couldn’t kill me, why do you think a weakling like you could?”_

The accusation made no sense, but Lyon was too relieved to care.

“But he did,” Lyon said, his heart suddenly light and gleeful. His own face glared at him through narrow, exhausted eyes and downward-tilting mouth. Lyon smiled, almost gently, and his heart soared with immense gratefulness. “Ephraim did kill you.”

 _“Nonsense!”_ Fomortiis’ roar still packed a punch, and Lyon took a step back despite himself. However, it did little to erase the still growing smile on Lyon’s face and the extraordinary lightness in his heart.

The circlet around Fomortiis’ head cracked from the force of the following shout. _“You have been borrowing MY power – you should know!”_

“Borrowing, yes,” Lyon said, unclenching his fingers that had been pressed into his palms this entire time. Lyon met his own weary eyes on that sickly face. “However, you haven’t managed to take over me for long periods of time after that time with Princess Veronica, have you?”

That was the only longer period of time in Zenith Lyon had barely any memories of – his body had been in pain and him unconscious, a perfect opportunity for a weakened demon to take over.

Perhaps Fomortiis could have had his body entirely to himself if it weren’t for Kiran’s interference. The thought of losing himself in Fomortiis was horrible now – but, Lyon acknowledged, in some ways it would have been a relief to him to not have lived after Siegmund had thrust into him and Ephraim had proven it again how hopeless Lyon was against him.

“You _can’t_ control my body unless I’m incapacitated somehow,” Lyon said, more and more sure the longer he spoke as he stared Fomortiis dead in the eye. “Emotionally or physically.”

 _“Since when did you become so cocky?”_ Fomortiis asked, simmering anger and denial obvious in his voice. Lyon would recognise those feelings anytime in his own voice. “ _You can’t even do a single thing without me, and you dare—”_

“I was weak,” Lyon interjected, “and useless. A coward. And that is how we ended up with each other. But I… as a human being… am capable of change.” Lyon closed his eyes and allowed himself the time to take a few steadying breaths. “I have changed.”

He thought of Innes. _You are a good man, Lyon._ Of Innes’ kinder than expected heart.

He also thought of Eirika – the one here in Zenith with him. Of her advice and of her holding a spoon to his lips when he was having a bad night and could barely eat.

Of course, he thought of Ephraim, too. Of his compassion and earnest desire to save him even when it was much too late for that. Of Ephraim’s back that Lyon had watched walking away from him in his dreams almost as long as they had been friends. Of how admirable he was – and of Ephraim’s last act of mercy to him.

“I’m not so strong as to push you away if you were as you were when I first let you in,” Lyon said, unflinching as Fomortiis’ hand moved down and closed around his wrist. The skin pressing against Lyon’s was cold and clammy like death, thin fingers around Lyon’s pulse tight but fragile. “But things have changed since then.”

Fomortiis’ hold over his wrist hurt, nails digging into Lyon’s skin. It stung, the way they tore at his skin, but Lyon simply exhaled over the demon’s insistent denial. _“Nothing has changed.”_

“Everything has,” Lyon said. It was like talking to his past self, when Fomortiis wore that face. Lyon’s smile widened. “Ephraim killed you – and… doing so, he has given me one last chance.”

“One last gift,” Lyon murmured, blinking when sudden emotion threatened to spill from his eyes at the thought of Ephraim. Certainly, he couldn’t have known that this would happen. Yet somehow, he still had given Lyon this.

One last gift from one friend to another.

“You cannot have my body,” he said then, willing himself to keep his eyes on the matching pair before him. Facing himself in this way – it was hard. Painful. Lyon wanted to cry, for many reasons. But… Lyon took in a breath.

“I am,” he said, with all the strength he could muster, “Prince Lyon of Grado.” His free hand reached out to the face before him and curled around a cheek as cold as ice, where pieces of skin had started to peel off.

“You cannot have me, Demon King.”

Fomortiis’ eyes widened in renewed rage, but the screech that left his lips was closer to urgency than anger as the skin on his face and the flesh of his body began to peel and rot away at an alarming rate. It was nauseating to watch, Lyon found, stomach churning as he looked at the entity of evil spoken in Magvel legends screaming at him with the last of its strength. The hand around Lyon’s wrist fell, skin and flesh melting away and showing bone.

 _“You—you—”_ Fomortiis’ distorted voice echoed off even as he became nothing more than a dust of bones.

“Goodbye,” Lyon said to the dust at his feet. Somehow, the simple act made a short laugh burst out of him – full of disbelief, relief, and everything in between.

_Thank you, Ephraim._

 

*

 

When he came back to the moment at hand, Siegmund was still pressed at his throat and the form of Ephraim was still lying against him and his wounds. Ephraim’s face was close, terribly so, and once upon a time it would have made Lyon’s heart race regardless of the expression on it.

Maybe it made his heart race now too, but the overwhelming portion of the feeling in Lyon’s heart was regretful nostalgia instead of envious adoration for a boy that was so good and so much better than him.

“Thank you,” he said, tears stinging his eyes as he let one hand go from Naglfar. Somehow, he managed to squeeze his hand out and bring it to Ephraim’s cheek. He knew this wasn’t Ephraim. It didn’t matter. Lyon felt at peace with it. He still needed to speak to this face, even if it was someone else’s mask.

For his own sake. He was allowed one last act of selfishness, right?

“Ephraim,” he whispered, “thank you.”

The familiar eyes widened with confusion, the baffled expression strikingly familiar for a fleeting second. Lyon knew he only thought it familiar because it was what he desperately wished to see right now.

Lyon cradled that cheek gently, as if it were made of glass. Loki hadn’t hidden away the burn marks they had sustained before, but Ephraim always did look his best when he was a little roughed up.

“And… I’m sorry.” Lyon would start feeling foolish soon, for getting to sentimental with someone that only bore Ephraim’s face and nothing else, so he had to get these words out now. For himself. Tears burnt at his eyes as he whispered, “I can’t erase my mistakes. That is why… I will not turn my gaze away from them. Nor from my future.”

“We can’t go back to how we once were,” Lyon continued, choking as he forced magic into the palm holding Ephraim’s stiff, stunned face. As a scream of pain – and surprise, mostly of surprise – filled the air, Lyon whispered, “You would have wanted me to move onward, too… right, Ephraim?”

 

*

 

Lyon could barely stand up without trembling violently – he had used up too much of his strength before, and Fomortiis’ sudden departure weighed his limbs down like someone had chained them. Lyon hadn’t predicted this – but it made sense, he thought as he grit his teeth together in a meek attempt at getting his body to obey. It was him alone in his skin now.

Naglfar no longer radiated Fomortiis’ magic as Lyon clutched it against himself. What little warmth Lyon sensed from the tome was quickly fading, much like the Demon King had just moments before.

This meant he couldn’t rely on it to protect himself and the others, even if Lyon was sure he could pull something out of the tome’s pages. Demon King influenced or not, a tome was a tome. _Something_ could be done with it – if nothing else, then it could be used to whack someone on the head. Naglfar was notoriously heavy, after all. It could probably crush someone’s skull open if slammed down hard enough. Lyon’s weak arms wouldn’t be able to do that, though.

 _What an Ephraim-like solution_ , Lyon thought deliriously. _He’d be surprised to hear that from me._

As for Loki, they had dropped their disguise. Gone were the turquoise strands of hair and eyes that were both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Loki was back to their feminine figure, hissing in pain as they cradled their bloodied cheek. Lyon’s stomach curdled at the chilling feel of Loki’s magic hanging in the air as their other hand clutched their staff so hard it looked like it might break the weapon.

“It appears as though,” Loki’s voice was cold enough to make Lyon shiver even despite the heat that still hadn’t evaporated, “I may have underestimated you the tiniest bit.” Then, more delightedly, “Oh, I do love surprises so much. Thank you for that, dear. But…”

Lyon clutched at the tome against his chest as Loki’s smile widened on that bruised, burnt face. The sight of it blurred, and Lyon blinked in a desperate attempt at keep his vision at least halfway functional.  “It also looks like you’re at your limit now, little prince.”

And Lyon couldn’t deny that, as much as he wanted to.

But still…

Lyon didn’t have to look behind him to know where the people he wished to protect were.

 

*

 

In the end, Lyon ended up on his knees under the heavy spell from Loki’s gravity-ruling staff. Its magic was much stronger now – or Lyon much weaker, which was the likelier option – and Lyon’s limbs had no adrenaline left to give him the strength to struggle beneath the oppressive gravity field that was drowning him and him alone.

The sacred seal from the summoner pressed against his wrist, but it couldn’t do much to save him now.

He supposed, somewhat deliriously, that this was fine too. He could accept death – whether it be permanent or temporary – upon himself.

Even if, he realised again with painful clarity as Loki’s knife-sharp smile came closer, he really wanted to live on.

It was a silly realisation, spurred on by his exhaustion and delusive state. If Kiran’s power was true, Lyon wouldn’t stay dead.

Yet he couldn’t help this desperation to live.

His head sank and his crimson-covered hands – some of it was Loki’s blood, and the rest he wasn’t sure – uncurled around the heavy tome.

He thought, _what does it matter now that_ he _is gone._

Naglfar slipped down with a thump, and Lyon’s arms fell limply to his sides.

Loki stepped closer. Lyon’s heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears as gravity magic kept pulling at him. This was the end, wasn’t it?

“Now,” Loki said, bending down to pick the tome up, their face so close Lyon could smell their breath over the ashen scent of the battlefield, “you don’t have to struggle uselessly anymore, princeling.”

Loki picked up the tome with one hand, the other still holding the staff, and straightened their back as they rose with Naglfar in a tight grip.

“Oof,” Loke deadpanned, a smile breaking out on their face. “Not quite as heavy as your behaviour suggested, prince.”

Lyon didn’t get the chance to even make an attempt at response when his ears caught the sound of something whirring in the air, going right past him, and the resulting groan of pain from Loki. Blinking his sight clear, Lyon saw an arrow stuck to Loki’s shoulder, blood trickling down to the expensive fabric of their clothing.

Naglfar fell from the white-knuckled grasp.

Loki’s gaze flicked up to somewhere behind Lyon, lips curling into a sneer. “Well, it seems your sweetheart’s as protective as always, dear.”

Lyon’s heart skipped a beat as his ears caught slight shuffling coming from behind him.

“Thanks for the opening,” came in that strong voice Lyon had grown intimately familiar with over time. Lyon heard the tight, self-satisfied smile in Innes’ words. Though exhaustion-laden, his voice still comforted Lyon. “Getting careless when you’re about to reach your goal? An amateur mistake.”

Lyon shuddered as the push of magic started to ease off him, though his limbs remained as heavy as if they were still under the spell.

Another arrow whizzed past Lyon as Loki attempted to reach for the tome.

“Not on my watch, witch,” Innes hissed, stepping closer, and Lyon felt a leg press against his back to hold him up when he threatened to tip over. Lyon exhaled, something warm and fuzzy forming over the exhaustion and emptiness in his chest. His eyes slid shut, and he only heard Loki’s hisses of pain before a surge of magic came and disappeared within the same moment.

And Loki was…

“Gone,” Innes said, and Lyon felt the leg relax even as it supported his back. Only now he realised how badly it was trembling despite Innes’ obvious effort to keep it – and the rest of himself – steady. “Warped away.”

“Innes,” he said, his own voice strange and distant to his ears. The knee pressed up against his back left, and Lyon would have tilted over if it hadn’t been for Innes quickly crouching down and catching him by the shoulders and waist, now face-to-face. Even with blurry eyes, Lyon saw the immense relief on Innes’ expression – though that relief tightened into concern as Innes called his name when Lyon’s eyelids threatened to fall.

Innes’ hand came to his cheek, and the touch of Innes’ rough palm was enough to have Lyon focus on him. His voice considerably gentler than when addressing Loki, Innes muttered firmly, “Don’t sleep now.”

“Are… Joshua and Lute…?”

“They’re safe,” Innes said, the arm around Lyon’s waist pulling him close and keeping him upright. “You kept them safe.”

After an awkward pause, Innes muttered more quietly, struggling with words, “You kept me safe.”

Lyon’s heart, which had been stuttering already, now felt like soaring from relief, and the feeling brought a new wave of tears to his eyes. “I did?”

Innes nodded solemnly, smiling through the bloodied cuts on his face. The silly, dazed part of Lyon’s barely coherent brain thought that even like this, he still looked charming. There was something about battle that suited both Innes and Ephraim so well.

“You did,” Innes said, his thumb rubbing away the tear that escaped from Lyon’s eye. He looked worn to the bone, but it didn’t keep him from holding Lyon like he was the only thing that mattered in the world right then. Lyon’s heart fluttered, though that might not be related to Innes.

Innes’ eyes burned bright and intense as they peered at him from beneath the bangs that had fallen over his handsome face.

He really needed a haircut.

The thought was so terribly out of context in their current situation that Lyon laughed shortly, even if it sent waves of aching through him and had him teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

The sound alarmed Innes, whose expression turned into a concerned frown. “…Lyon?”

“You really,” Lyon said through the shaky, fading laughter, his hand trailing up Innes’ body until it found Innes’ face and reached the disarrayed fringe of hair, “need a haircut.”

Innes’ eyes widened in concerned confusion, and it was _beautiful_ – and Lyon’s chest burned with feeling at the thought that he had managed to protect someone so precious to him this once.

Maybe he wasn’t as worthless as he had thought.

 

*

 

As Lyon’s eyelids slid shut and his hand fell from Innes’ hair, Innes shook him hard out of instinct. After all these months spent in Askr, the instinctive need to stop someone from falling into eternal sleep still came out strong.

“Lyon? _Lyon_ ,” he called his name insistently, but Lyon had already fallen limp in his hold, eyes closed and refusing to open.

He was still breathing, Innes noted with considerable relief. The realisation forced him to release the breath that had got stuck in his throat and his heart to stumble into an even beat again.

He sighed, pressing his lips into Lyon’s sweaty, tangled hair, and settled for wasting a moment just holding Lyon – relishing in the feeling of Lyon’s body heat against his own and the uneven sound of Lyon’s breathing that filled the little space between them.

Admitting sentimental things aloud was always difficult. Acknowledging someone else’s skill was one thing; confessing how someone made him feel was another. It had always been a weakness to be avoided.

“I love you,” Innes murmured now, the words heavy on his tongue as this time he wasn’t following up Lyon with them. He was a man of action, not words, when it came to the relationships he had – but, Innes admitted, sometimes the words were necessary as well. Even if only in special cases.

Lyon’s head against his shoulder and breath fanning at his clammy neck brought a strange kind of peace inside Innes, untying the tension that had lingered long in him.

 _One day,_ he thought, very decisive as usual, _I’ll marry you._

 

*

 

Joshua and Lute came to a little while after, both a little dazed but Lute was still perfectly capable of warping their group back to the castle. It was impressive, being able to activate that high level of magic while still at least halfway down to concussion.

After a quick debriefing with the Askrans (or rather, a postponement of the debriefing) Innes carried Lyon to the infirmary, even though Joshua kept offering to take his burden from him along the way. Apparently, he didn’t realise how unnecessary the offer was.

“You look exhausted,” he insisted when Innes merely held Lyon tighter against himself. “You shouldn’t overexert yourself, man.”

“I’m perfectly aware of my own limits,” Innes said, minding his step and trying not to disturb Lyon’s curled body in his arms as they headed off to the medical wing. Joshua slowed his steps to match his, irritably insistent with his needless worry. “There’s no need for concern.”

Joshua sighed but remained thankfully silent when Innes threw him an annoyed glance. He was too tired to deal with unnecessary foolishness right now – and his eyes seemed to convey that as Joshua simply pursed his mouth and tugged his hat lower on his head.

Innes had to let go of Lyon once they made it to the infirmary as well as give himself up for a check-up and wrapping of his wounds. Clerics were plenty busy with the constant flow of patients, so after his wounds had been taken care of, Innes quietly protested to further treatment and moved out of the way towards where Lyon had been taken.

A cleric was still working on him, sweat bundling up on her forehead, and Innes stayed aside as he watched the glow of the girl’s staff gently press over Lyon’s wounds. From his angle, and now that Lyon’s robes had been taken off, he could see extensive scars run across Lyon’s abdomen, majority of them located over his stomach. One was particularly deep, the skin rough and dipping downward, and Innes pursed his lips at it.

He knew where that one had come from.

The others were hardly as deep as that one, but they were numerous and some looked like they had been reopened repeatedly over time – though not recently.

He had a good guess where those came from as well, and the thought had him clench his jaw stiffly.

The cleric, a young girl with blond hair tied up in twin tails, let go of a heavy sigh as she brought the staff down. Droplets of sweat lingering on her face, and she wiped her face. Her expression remained tight, a frown tugging down her brows and darkening her otherwise lively face.

It was disconcerting to have a healer look so glum, so Innes cleared his throat and watched as she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Something the matter?”

She turned his gaze to him, her dark grey eyes wide as if she had completely forgotten he was there. Innes raised an eyebrow, and her confusion faded away soon after as she began to scratch at her cheek sheepishly. “Oh, nothing really. It’s just… I’ve been through wars in my own world, but I still haven’t got used to seeing scars like… these. Makes me sound childish, huh?”

“I would find it worrisome if you were used to seeing scars like these,” Innes said, glancing at them again. His stomach churned, despite himself. “Especially considering how young you appear to be.”

“Hey! I’m _seventeen_.”

“My case in point,” Innes said dryly, though mildly surprised she wasn’t younger than that. Inspecting her handiwork with the staff, he asked before she could retort anything back at him, “Do you need help with bandaging him up?”

She swallowed down whatever angry words might have come next. “I don’t _need_ help,” she said, suddenly chipper again, “but I would _appreciate_ it!”

Somehow, the look on her face gave him a similar feeling as Tana’s wide smiles did, and so he couldn’t bring himself to be too annoyed with the cleric as she started putting him to work.

 

*

 

Her name was Lissa, and somewhat unexpectedly she indeed was a little sister to a prince.

An idiot of a prince, apparently, but a prince nevertheless.

She rambled on as he helped her to wrap up the few injuries Lyon had sustained, and Innes found himself almost relaxing. It was familiar – she ranted about her brother much the same way Tana ranted about him right to his face.

She had no reason to linger afterwards as she was needed like every other cleric in the castle to tend to the rest of the injured – which also included King Gustav’s troops. As much as the King seemed to abhor the Order – or rather, his heir’s participation, if the rumours were true – he certainly utilized the clerics efficiently.

Innes didn’t have much reason to linger, either. Judging by Lyon’s pallid complexion, it would take a while before he regained consciousness – Innes could come back once the clerics were done.

 

*

 

Which he did, after a quiet dinner with Eirika and Lute in the mess hall. He wasn’t aware of the exact circumstances that had led them to becoming so close to one another, but the feelings were real and easy to notice just by paying attention to Eirika’s charmed smiles at whatever nonsensical pseudo-science concept Lute was going on about.

It was best that she didn’t worry about Lyon so much, Innes decided as he hid his own smile into a forkful of food.

His mind kept returning to Lyon, and it made him raise a hand thoughtlessly to the strands of hair that had slipped down from the back of his ear. _I do need a haircut_.

So did Lyon, in all honesty. Innes hadn’t noticed it earlier, but Lyon’s hair had started to grow out to the point where he could wear a ponytail comfortably.

Hm. Innes entertained the thought of Lyon with a ponytail. It wasn’t… an off-putting mental image. From there, Innes’ mind trailed back to the topic he had meant to discuss with Lyon before they had been deployed.

“Innes.” Eirika’s voice drove that train of thought away just as soon as it had emerged. “Are my eyes deceiving me, or… are you blushing?”

Innes did not choke on whatever wheat-based meal he had been mindlessly eating. Did _not_ , even if Lute gave a brisk slap on his back in attempt to help him swallow or spit the food out.

Eirika’s smile remained gentle, a little curious. “You’re thinking of Lyon.”

“How curious,” Lute added, just as interested. The glint in her eye that was anything but innocent. “He gets the same look on his face whenever it comes to him.”

“It’s this little thing called love,” Eirika said without tease and mockery, only genuine gentleness and wonder, “right?”

Innes stared at her, and she laughed self-consciously. “I heard that line somewhere. You needn’t look at me as though I have two heads, Innes.”

“I wasn’t _blushing_ ,” Innes eventually settled for and managed to school his face into a scowl.

“Maybe not,” Eirika allowed, studying his face carefully and smiling at whatever she found besides the bruises and bandages, “but very close to blushing.”

Innes could hardly tell her that he had been thinking about the conversation he had had with Joshua and the conversation he should have with Lyon – _I wish to marry you_ , he would tell Lyon, _eventually._

“It’s not a little thing,” Innes said, peering down at his plate and frowning. “Love, I mean.”

He had come to realise the severity of the feeling over time. It was no small thing, to wish for someone’s life to entangle with one’s own – to wish for the other’s happiness as much as one’s own.

 He could easily have missed this love – it could have been a target he never shot an arrow at because he never saw it there.

The what-if made his lips curl further. “Not for me.”

He made his decision then.

 

*

 

He came back to the infirmary the bedridden patients stayed at with Eirika after dinner. Lyon wasn’t awake yet, which wasn’t surprising, and Innes sat down beside him after finding chairs for Eirika and himself. Naglfar had been laid on the desk beside the bed, but Innes paid it no mind as he took Lyon’s hand. The coldness of Lyon’s skin startled him, and he would have grown concerned if he hadn’t felt the steady pulse when his fingers went down to Lyon’s wrist.

No one else was at the infirmary, save for the sleeping patients.

Eirika watched him more than she did Lyon, and her stare had him shift uncomfortably on the rickety stool.

“What is it?” Innes asked. The warm meal had not given him much energy – rather, it seemed to have made him sleepier.

“You really,” Eirika said, voice and eyes soft when Innes turned to look, “do love him.”

Innes sighed. Rather than irritated at how full of wonder Eirika’s voice held at the concept of him loving her friend, he was only tired. It had been a long day. “Have I given any reason to doubt that recently?”

Eirika touched his arm gently. “No,” she said, “you haven’t.”

“Then, what is this—”

“I think,” Eirika said evenly, looking down at Lyon’s resting figure, “that whatever is on your mind, Innes… you should go for it.”

Innes liked to think he wasn’t easy to surprise, but this time Eirika truly caught him off guard. “Eirika. How do you—”

“I know you’ve probably made your decision on it already,” Eirika interjected gently, her eyes glued to where Innes held Lyon’s hand. Her smile widened by a fraction. “You’re a very decisive person, after all – but I wanted to reiterate that… that you don’t need anyone’s permission to follow your heart with this. Not mine, not Ephraim’s. Only Lyon’s.”

“Eirika,” Innes started, voice strained, but stopped as he didn’t know what to say.

“Maybe it’s foolish of me,” Eirika said, laughing softly, “but I thought I should say this before you decided to duel anyone in Lyon’s name, or something. Which, I don’t think he would want you to do.”

“You’re saying this to keep me from duelling Ephraim,” Innes noted.

Eirika shrugged, smiling still. Something melancholic was stuck at the corners of her mouth now, and Innes frowned at the sight. “It seems terribly foolish to me to do so when both Ephraim and I wish nothing but for him to be happy again – and I have seen how happy he is with you.”

“Hm.”

“And – well,” Eirika continued, unsurely. “I wish for your happiness as well, Innes. So I was hoping... that you wouldn’t make it unnecessarily complicated for yourself.”

Eirika was kind. This was a fact that Innes had known from the beginning, and yet he could never stop marvelling it – no matter the pain he could see such naïve gentleness bringing her.

“I only do what is expected of me,” Innes said.

“And that is where the problem lies,” Eirika said as she laid her hand over his and Lyon’s. “It’s not so bad to act on the wishes of your heart every once in a while. Without making excuses for it.”

Innes turned his gaze to Lyon’s sleeping, bandaged face once more. His hand squeezed around Lyon’s smaller one. “I know what I want, Eirika.”

“Then,” Eirika said, “don’t create obstacles for yourself when there are none.”

 

*

 

He found himself in the throne room, red banners and stone walls as familiar to him as though he had only been there yesterday. In reality, it had been much longer since the last time Lyon cast his eyes on these walls.

It filled him with regretful nostalgia and guilt, but the time for reminiscence ended as soon as his eyes settled on the wide back of his father, who stood in front of the throne and looked up at the banner hanging above it.

Lyon stood still, staring at the back of his father’s head, until a very familiar voice rang through the air, stern but not without kindness. “Lyon.”

“Father,” Lyon whispered in bewilderment as his father turned around and set his tired eyes upon him. The sight of that heavy gaze had Lyon swallow, all his nerves on fire, but nothing in Emperor Vigarde’s eyes suggested disappointment in him.

Even when disappointment was what Lyon deserved.

But no – if anything, Lyon could only catch melancholy and sadness in familiar eyes that he had missed terribly. That he still missed terribly.

Vigarde gestured for him to come closer, and Lyon did, almost tripping over his feet in his hurry. When he came close enough, his father draped his arms around Lyon in a firm hug that had Lyon freeze on the spot again. It wasn’t that Vigarde wasn’t an affectionate man when it came to family – he simply hadn’t had the time for years before his demise.

Lyon couldn’t remember the last time his father had embraced him.

“Father?” Embarrassingly, his voice came out as a weak squeak.

“Forgive me,” Vigarde’s voice was rough with feeling, and Lyon sunk into the hug finally when Vigarde’s hand came to stroke his hair. Father had done this often when he had been a child, especially when Lyon got sick. The memories burned at Lyon’s aching heart.

“I should beg for your forgiveness instead, father,” Lyon said, closing his eyes at the familiar smell of his father’s clothes. Comforting. “Everything is lost because of…”

Vigarde’s fingers stroked and threaded his hair firmly, and Lyon found himself unable to finish the sentence as tears threatened to leak.

“The weight of the crown,” his father began solemnly. Lyon buried his face deeper into his chest like a needy child. He still _was_ a needy child, inexperienced in how to be an adult and a king. “I forgot how heavy it was when I spoke to you the last time.”

“I forgot,” his father continued, gentle and tired, “how much heavier your heart has always been.”

“Father,” Lyon said weakly, “you needn’t try to make me feel better.”

“I am not, son.” His father sighed, sounding troubled like he always was on certain days when his work weighed down on him especially hard. Lyon remembered how those days had grown in number – and how terrified he had grown about the prospect of taking his father’s place one day.

“I fear,” Vigarde mused, “that I was the one that pushed you over the edge, with what I said back then.” His hand stopped moving in Lyon’s hair, but it remained there as a comforting, anchoring touch. “I was wrong, in any case. I no longer have any doubts that Prince Ephraim and Princess Eirika would have come to your aid, should you have asked.”

Tears slipped down Lyon’s closed eyes. Something in his father’s words felt immensely freeing, even if they couldn’t undo the damage done to Magvel and Grado.

“They would have,” Lyon whispered with a choked voice. “Ephraim… Eirika…”

“It’s too late for what-ifs,” Vigarde muttered, his mouth pressed against the crown of Lyon’s hair, “so I will not go over those. However… I have one request, from father to son.”

 _Anything_ , Lyon thought as he burrowed deeper into his father’s comfort. _Anything you ask of me, father…_

Or… not anything, not anymore. Lyon knew he couldn’t avoid making decisions for himself now.

Lyon raised his head enough for his words to be heard. “What is it, father?”

“Live,” Vigarde said, the word strikingly solemn. “Live, and be _happy_ , Lyon.”

Lyon looked up at his father’s face. Even though his vision was blurry with tears, he could make out the gentle smile his father had once been known for around the land.

“I always was proud of you, Lyon,” Vigarde said just as the world began to fade around them, his voice turning to a distant echo by the end even as Lyon tried to cling him to him and keep him for a little while longer. “Even now, I still am.”

His father’s arms let go of him, and their surroundings slowly turned to white as Vigarde stepped back from him. Behind him, Lyon could see two of the Imperial Three – Glen and Selena – looking at him with soft, if not a little distant, smiles on their faces.

For a moment, Lyon wished he could stay with them. But he knew he should not – and would not.

Then, everything flashed white, and they were gone.

 

*

 

When he managed to open his eyes, he felt stray tears falling from his lashes to his cheeks, the cold watery trail slipping down his face until he wiped it away with a tired hand. He wasn’t sure why he felt like crying, but it also wasn’t the first time he had woken up this way.

Secondly, he recognized the lumpy mattress beneath him as definitely not his – so infirmary, he figured, and inhaled sharply when the memories from before trickled in.

A familiar voice, though sleepy and rough like its owner hadn’t rested for a long time, called his name, and it had Lyon open his eyes, a rush of relieved affection in his veins as he saw Innes’ exhausted face peering down at him. Lyon smiled at the sight, quite tired himself, and whispered, “Hi.”

Relief crossed Innes’ face – subtly, but Lyon saw it there in the corners of his mouth and eyes and in the slight relaxation of his brows. He said, with a concerned edge to his tone, “You kept me waiting.”

Lyon blinked at him.

“You were unconscious for three days,” Innes explained, brows furrowing again. “I… we were starting to get worried.”

“We?”

“Mostly him,” another familiar voice joined in, and Lyon lifted his head to look at Joshua standing little ways from the bed, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His face was mostly hidden beneath his hat, but Lyon got the impression that he was almost as tired as Innes. Joshua’s voice suddenly took on a livelier and more teasing tone when he continued quietly, “You should’ve seen him. Refused to leave your bedside when you hadn’t woken up after the first night.”

“Do you know how to stay quiet, or do I need to teach you?” Innes retorted, his hand about to pull away from Lyon’s but Lyon closed his fingers around Innes’ to keep them there. That tugged Innes’ attention back to him, a questioning look replacing his annoyance.

“Thank you,” Lyon said, wincing when his voice came out hoarse, “for staying with me.”

“I won’t get much done if I don’t oversee your recovery myself,” Innes said in his brutally sincere manner that Lyon had come to adore. Even if, Lyon thought as he looked at the softness that lingered in Innes’ eyes, he wasn’t always that honest with his feelings. Innes’ fingers squeezed his lightly enough to be comforting. “You’re the man I…”

It wasn’t usual for Innes to trail off in hesitation, and so Lyon stared at him in question when Innes pursed his lips and looked away with some words obviously stuck in his throat.

Then Lyon realised what Innes must be trying to say and smiled softly. Innes could be so _sweet_ sometimes. “I know,” he said, with a giddy laugh almost on his lips. He felt so light all of a sudden – a horrible burden now gone from his shoulders. “You love me. Not saying it first doesn’t make it any less true.”

The sunlight that lit up the room highlighted the flush that was spreading over Innes’ face, and Lyon’s gaze got hopelessly drawn to it.

“Innes,” Eirika’s voice piped up then, startling Lyon. He hadn’t even noticed his friend’s presence – to be fair, she hadn’t entered his field of vision until now. Her hand settled on Innes’ shoulder, and Lyon watched Innes’ expression turn more rigid. Eirika’s tone was light, full of politely concealed laughter when she wondered, “Must I ask him for you?”

Innes’ face twitched, more and more flustered with each passing second, and it was a captivating sight. “Absolutely not.”

He turned to glare at them – Eirika, Joshua, and Lute who Lyon only now noticed leaning against the wall some metres from Joshua – and hissing, “This is meant to be a private moment.”

“I wanna see how you do it, lover boy.”

Eirika was more apologetic than Joshua. “I admit I’m curious as well.”

“I must observe for the sake of future reference,” Lute said, and Lyon saw Eirika’s cheeks flush prettily at that. _Strange._

Innes sighed irritably at all their responses, his brows pulling into a frown, before looking at Lyon again. His hand squeezed Lyon’s tighter now as he studied Lyon’s face for an awkwardly long moment, obviously looking for something.

“Marry me,” Innes blurted out after that moment passed, only for more silence to follow his outburst.

Lyon stared at Innes, who stared back at him with nothing but serious intent in his gaze. It seemed like a horrible joke at his expense, but… Lyon knew better, didn’t he? He could trust his judgment of Innes – and more importantly, he could trust Innes himself.

Innes was nothing if not serious about these types of things.

Lyon’s heart finally caught up with the situation, suddenly leaping with unreasonable joy that added to the feather-light feeling in him.

“Hey now.” Joshua’s tone was disapproving, but his grin was just as audible. “You made him cry.”

Eirika shushed him, and Lyon thought that she might have elbowed him based off on the following groan. That made him smile more – his cheeks began to ache from it.

Something from a recent dream tingled in the back of his mind. _Live, and be happy._

“I.” Lyon struggled, blinking and noting the weight of tears in his eyes. “Are you—”

“—am I certain?” Innes finished for him. His eyes narrowed as he studied Lyon’s reaction. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t. I have given it enough consideration.” Innes furrowed his brows as something appeared to dawn on him. “…Not because of any indecent reasons, mind you. But because I…”

Lyon’s own cheeks felt like blazing fires as Innes struggled with words, his face tight with tension again. It was a bit funny how constipated he looked when it came to expressing emotion, but Lyon couldn’t help being endeared by it.

“I truly do… wish to have you by my side for as long as this life allows,” Innes said, voice so quiet Lyon was sure only he could hear it. He was certainly the only one that saw the vulnerable face Innes was making right now – and that alone was enough for Lyon to reach out to that unconventionally handsome face with his unoccupied hand.

“Yes,” he said, softly enough so that only Innes would catch it or read from his lips. “Of course I will, Innes.”

The smile that bloomed on Innes’ face, slow and steady like the coming of spring after a long winter, was one that Lyon wished he could remember forever.

 

*

 

It was a week later that Lyon found himself sitting on the edge of his and Innes’ shared bed, now that Innes _officially_ shared the room with him.

(Innes was willing to compromise on the no-cohabitation-before-marriage tradition, thankfully.)

In his hands Lyon had the tome Kiran had gifted him after they had found out that Naglfar had become considerably weaker in the wake of the recent events. Rauðrowl, Kiran had called it.

Lyon ran his fingers over the wings protruding from the tome’s covers. He had studied its contents already over the several days he had spent resting and recovering whatever strength he had had before.

He hadn’t told anyone of what had truly happened back at the Askran border, but was there any need to? The Demon King was gone, and while he may have taken bits of Lyon’s soul with him – this was only a hypothesis he had come up with regarding how weak he felt even when he hadn’t sustained severe injuries – Lyon saw no need for alarm.

He wondered if he was weaker now without that power. He had wondered that often over the past days, but whenever that thought arose, he had an answer for it.

He was stronger now. Not much – certainly never enough to match with the likes of Innes and Ephraim either in mental or physical aspect – but enough to stand on his own feet and push forward.

_It’s what you always wished for me to be able to do, isn’t it, father?_

Lyon’s gaze rose from the cover of Rauðrowl to the glass doors that led to the balcony. The light trickling in sent hues of yellow and orange into the room and brought a contented smile to Lyon’s face just as the door to the chamber opened. Footsteps followed the sound, familiar and confident. Lyon rather liked the rhythm of those steps, and so he waited without turning to look until the steps halted, and Innes stood by his side.

He wore an exasperated expression, but it turned soft when his eyes met Lyon’s. “Everyone’s waiting,” he said, his voice annoyed. It contrasted the warmth that Lyon saw pressed into the dips and curves of his face. “Engagement party, they said.”

“Ah,” Lyon hummed, biting back a smile. “Joshua?”

“Not this time,” Innes sighed. “Our summoner, it seems like. They appeared overjoyed at the announcement.”

Lyon stood up at the mention of Kiran. It was thanks to them that he even had this chance at change and happiness to begin with – he would always feel a spark of thankfulness for that.

He set Rauðrowl down before taking Innes’ fingers between his own. They were warmer than expected, much like Innes himself.

“We shouldn’t keep them waiting, then,” Lyon said as he leaned up on his tiptoes to press a light kiss to his husband-to-be’s cheek.

“They can wait a little longer,” Innes said, cupping the back of Lyon’s neck and leaning down to chase Lyon’s lips.

With laughter bubbling out of him, Lyon met Innes halfway.

Happiness had taken a long time searching for him, but it had finally caught up to Lyon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me @ me: Never ask anything of me ever again.
> 
> To readers that stuck with this: thank you so so much for taking the time to read this. Hopefully, it was enjoyable. There may be a sequel coming because my brain is unfortunately stuck on Innes/Lyon right now.


End file.
